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hellfire--cult · 11 months

Text

Edit of Eddie: Sofiiel

Stripper!Eddie x Shy!Fem!Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 (end)

WC: 16.3k (dont say anything)

⚠️ +18 MDNI, Stripper!Eddie, shyness towards men, nervousness, self-esteem issues, fluff, self doubt, flirting, soft touches, skin on skin contact, kissing, kissing with tongue, pining, Stripper!Billy, Stripper!Steve, sensual dancing, smut (i won't spoil it)

Plot: You thought you were cursed with your shyness, but after one embarrassing night, you decide it's time to change, and you believe someone might be able to help with that.

Summary: You have a date, but it doesn't go as you thought it would. Friends are always there to bring a smile to your face, and Eddie gets the reason of why the date went wrong, ending with him helping you in a very special way.

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this took! But it's finally here, and it's long, and I hope it's up to everyone's expectations! I am happy I got so much response on this fic, from people I admire, as well as to all of you who decided to start reading it. Thank you!

You can always support me by hitting the reblog button with tags, and I always enjoy reading your comments!

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PART 5

Your breath was heavy as you stared up at the ceiling with a sheen of sweat over your forehead.

You almost never did this, but lately there was a need for it like never before. You didn’t even know what you were imagining, or who you were picturing, but you never felt so carnal before, so needy, and it all started since you kissed Eddie. It was as if there was a switch inside of you, and he just turned it on, and now it’s unstoppable.

When was the last time you actually had sex? It had to be over two years now, because that’s the last relationship you had with a man. You could handle it for two months only. You always went for the same kind. Introverts. Rarely go out, probably gamers that spend their nights and days on the computer, so it was a win win for you. You got to satisfy that primal part of you, and you barely had to see them.

And you don’t even enjoy it, or at least that’s what you think but now, for some reason, and out of nowhere you are craving for it. The only explanation for that is because you now know you can talk to people you find attractive and you might have a shot at it. Should you download those dating apps Robin uses?

You look at the clock and realize you have just half an hour to prepare your coffee and get on the computer for work. Your eyes slightly widen and you sit up, almost throwing your vibrator to the ground.

“Shit!” You didn’t intend to touch yourself in the morning like this, but you awoke at 8 and for some reason you were restless. You didn’t know why, because you had actually touched yourself the day before, and two days before that. You were being insatiable and you don’t know how to stop it.

But now, thanks to that, you were rushing out of bed to put on a nice shirt but keeping your pajama bottoms on, just in case you have a meeting today, and try to wake yourself up in the bathroom, washing your face as quick as possible, and brushing your hair. You put some mascara on, and rushed out of the bathroom to finally start your pot of coffee. You walked towards your desk that was in a corner of your living room, and opened up your laptop, ready to log on to work.

When you finally had your cup of coffee and you were working away on the computer, you could finally relax. You put on some jazz music just to fill the background with something as you worked the day away. You had some lunch, making a quick tuna salad to fill your stomach as you looked at your phone, scrolling on instagram.

You had a message from Eddie, and when you opened it, it was a video of a horse where the owner asks if he is going to be a good boy today, and the horse simply turns, farts on the camera and runs away. You almost snorted out the water you were drinking, swallowing it quickly to start laughing at it, double tapping the video for a like.

It was friday, so maybe you can go to Eddie’s today, maybe hang out with the other guys if they’re available, invite Robin too. You were happy that she and Steve were getting along, and even if they insult each other on a daily basis, it was always in an endearing way. Almost.

For over a month you’ve been over the moon with your new found friends, and also a panging sense of guilt filled your gut for not telling your other friends. You’ve gotten together with them, and you had to bite your tongue from your excitement whenever they said about going out at night but for your sake they decided to simply have dinner at a bar, or restaurant.

You went to Eddie’s messages, and you honestly believed that after your kiss everything would be awkward, but actually, you felt as if you two had gotten closer. The messages were more recurring, and now sometimes he messaged you good morning if he woke up early enough. This was not one of the times, so he must have worked till late last night.

You blushed as you thought about that, because there was a part of you that was intrigued if you would still faint at seeing them strip in front of you. When you remember that night, you don’t feel as flustered as you felt some weeks back. You knew you would be nervous, but it didn’t feel as gut wrenching as before.

You were about to say good afternoon to Eddie until a notification popped up in your laptop. You put the phone down to see who messaged you, seeing it was one of your coworkers asking for help with something. You read what he had been having troubles with and realized it’s not something you can help him with via text. Austin wasn’t a bad guy, and he almost never asked for your help, barely talked to him during meetings, which you were now putting your camera on unlike previous times.

So you decided you would open up a video call with a presentation to actually help him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but it was something you knew how to do. You fixed yourself a bit in front of the camera and took a deep breath in before calling him. It rang just three times and then he came into view, knocking your breath just a bit.

You saw him at the meetings a few times, but he always looked tidy, with his hair pulled back and a nice button up shirt on. Since you didn’t have any formal meetings today, he had decided to wear a casual black T-Shirt, and his blonde hair was a little messy, but it was casual messy. His eyes were greenish from what you could see, and unlike the times you’ve seen him, there was a beard on his face now.

In one word, Austin was gorgeous, and he made you straighten up on your chair a bit.

“Hey there, sorry to bother you with this, really.” He starts, rubbing his cheek in embarrassment. You shook your head and smiled softly into the camera.

“No, no, it’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything particularly important, so don’t worry about it.” He smiles back and gives you a nod. That gave you the que to start explaining to him, pulling the sharing screen feature to show him the practice of it as well. He asked a few questions of course, but you didn’t mind the interruption really, and you found yourself being able to talk without stuttering or stopping at any point.

“So it was that easy… Look, or I’m a complete idiot for not understanding the manual or–”

“The manual is outdated Austin.” You giggled at him and he squinted slightly to the camera with a soft smile to his face as he looked at you.

“Hey, I think this is like… The first time I ever talked to you, apart from the meetings of course.” He says and that made you slightly nervous, but a good nervous, knowing he was engaging in conversation and that you actually felt like continuing it.

“Yeah, I am not the talkative kind–” You see him squinting intently into the camera and you tilt your head at him, wondering what he is looking at.

“Is that the collection of Harry Potter in your library?” He points and your eyes widen, looking behind you, the library on full display and the 7 books in chronological order and different sizes and colors must have given it away. You turn your head to look at him with a smile and nod.

“Yeah– Kind of obsessed with it really.” He smiles widely into the camera and puts his wrist up and you look into the screen to see a wand tattooed on his skin, making you widen your eyes with a surprised look on your face. “Holy shit.” He laughs at your cussing and you felt yourself blush for doing so, but he wasn’t showing signs of disgust or being uncomfortable at that.

“Same here, read the books since very little. I know there’s controversy now with it, but I can’t fight my childhood really.” He says and you know exactly what he is talking about, feeling the same way about it. You give him a nod, with a smile on your face and you bite your bottom lip with curiosity in your eyes.

“Yeah, I get that…” He squints slightly at you with a playful smile on his face as he scoots closer in the camera.

“You look like you have something to ask me.” You catch the way his face changed when talking to you from the beginning, letting the butterflies in your belly break loose.

“I was going to ask you what house you’re in.” You ask and he thinks for a moment, and you widen your eyes because he wasn’t telling you right away.

“Mmm… I could tell you, or I could let you figure me out.”

Oh.

Oh. He was flirting with you.

Your heart was beating wildly now, not expecting the call to turn this way at all, and you were almost speechless at it. You have to be brave, a cute guy was openly flirting with you, a cute guy who is not Eddie, or Steve, or Billy! He is not helping you with anything, he is flirting with you because he wants to!

“And can you figure me out?” You ask back, tilting your head slightly and he smiled at the reciprocated flirting. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean, I think it would be easier in person… Maybe tonight, after work, like an after office kind of thing?” He asks you and you feel the beating of your heart in your throat, trying to settle your breathing down. He was asking you out, on a date, a date with a cute guy. What should you do? Should you say yes? No? But this is what you wanted, you have to remind yourself that this is why you asked for help in the first place.

“U-Um, sure! We can meet up somewhere?” You ask him and he gives you a nod with a smile to his face.

“Sounds great, put your phone down on the chat so I can message you later, because fucking Lorraine is blasting my notifications right now with something.” He rolled his eyes and you giggled at that, knowing how annoying that coworker is. You bit your lip as you went to his chat and typed in your cell phone number and he smiled at the camera once he received it.

“So, see you later I guess?” He gives you a nod and a small wave.

“See you later.” And like that the call ended.

You let out a sharp breath, like a loud huff, letting your lungs decompress because you couldn’t believe it. You were stunned, sitting at your desk, looking at the computer as if it were the most incredible thing you’ve seen in your life.

You had a date.

You got yourself a date. By yourself. By being yourself and just you, no excessive make up was required. A wide smile spread on your lips as you squealed with flushed cheeks towards the ceiling. You would go out with a cute guy, finally. Your breath was heavy as your stomach bounced with nervousness, excitement, nausea, everything but you didn’t care.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, and as soon as you saw where it was unlocked, you felt your stomach slightly drop. Eddie had sent you a good afternoon himself, with a tired smiley face. You bit your bottom lip, gulping as you wrote good afternoon back to him, and for some reason you didn’t want to tell him about this date.

You thought he would be the first person you would like to tell this to, but there was a feeling in the mouth of your stomach that didn’t let you. You really don’t know why, but you just felt uncomfortable telling him something like this. Why? Why would it be weird to tell him this? Your brain was trying to find a solution, but in the meantime, you changed from Eddie’s messages to Robin’s.

‘Come to my house, ASAP.’

And that’s all Robin Buckley needed to head upstairs with her work laptop in her arm, barging through your door.

“This better be fucking goo–”

“I have a date!” And Robin almost dropped her laptop to the floor at the news, looking at you with a completely stunned look on her face, features not even moving as you stared at her with widened eyes, waiting for her response. Suddenly, like getting hit by a brick, the realization dawned on you. “Oh… Oh shit, I have a date… I have a date Robin, what do I do?”

Your stomach started flipping over now that it all sank in. It happened way too fast, and out of nowhere, and now it was happening. In a few hours you would meet up with a cute guy and you didn’t know what to really do. What did you have to expect? Should you expect more than a kiss? Should you shave? Should you put on your lingerie or not? Do people do that on the first date? But you did want to feel good, so what is wrong with that? But wouldn’t it be desperate–

“Hang on!” You heard Robin yell and you realized you were pacing around the room, holding onto your head completely exasperated. You turned to look at her with a panicked look on your face and she quickly put the laptop on your counter and walked towards you, grabbing your hand to center you back to earth. “You’re going on a date?!”

You quickly nod your head, feeling your cheeks burn as well as your entire body feeling like lava was being poured on you. Oh god, you were going with a stranger, well not a complete stranger, he’s been working in the same area for almost five months now, he looks tidy, his name is Austin, yeah, you can work with that, and he–

“He likes Harry Potter! He has a wand tattooed on his arm!” You say excitedly and now Robin knows exactly why you agreed so quickly. Nevertheless she jumped up in excitement, clapping her hands at you. She never thought she’d see the day you would go on a date, and much less with–

“Wait, wait… is he hot?” She asks and you nod wildly, going towards your work computer and putting up his work profile. He had a suit on with his hair moussed back but his features were the same. Robin’s eyes almost bulged out of her sockets as she looked at the man. “Holy fucking shit… From work!?”

“Y-Yeah… It’s not going to be a problem right? Oh… Oh there might be, what if it doesn’t work out Robin? I mean, what if I fuck it up, and I embarrass myself and he doesn’t want to talk to me–”

“Then you two stay friends!” She immediately cut your rambling off, turning to look at you with a smile to her face. “Not every man is a douche bag, and if it doesn’t work out, it just doesn’t and you two go back to being coworkers, but THIS, is a big fucking step!” She says excitedly, making you smile to match her energy, despite the ongoing nervousness in your belly.

“Yeah, I’m… a little excited too… Really nervous, but excited.” You say to her and she bites her bottom lip, grabbing her phone from her back pocket, looking for Steve’s contact, pressing the video call button, jumping up and down slightly.

“I can’t wait to tell Steve! I mean I bet you already told Eddie, so–”

“WAIT!” You yell but it was too late. You could hear the sound of the video call starting and your blood drained out of your body, and your stomach was turning all around.

“Robin, what-sha wantsh?” You hear Steve mumble and Robin makes a disgusted face with a smile still on her face.

“Stop chewing your food like a camel, and listen to me. Guess who has a date tonight!” She says onto the screen and you wince when Steve doesn't respond at all. You weren’t looking at the screen so you didn’t know what his reaction was.

“You said we should all hang out today, and now you have a date?” He says and your ears perked up at that. Robin thought of the same thing you did this morning, warming your heart a little bit, and also feeling sad you won’t be able to join. Robin rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Not me Dingus.” She then, out of nowhere, turned the camera to face you this time, making your eyes go wide. “TA-DA!”

Steve’s eyes almost popped out at the surprise and he suddenly spat the cheerios he was eating. You had a disgusted look on your face and then heard a lot of noise from Steve’s side, cursing and stomping all around.

“Harrington, what the actual fuck!” You heard Billy yell and Steve was coughing non stop. Your face flushed, burnt even at the attention and then Steve tried talking, saying your name.

“She- She has a date tonight!” He yells and the next thing you heard was a pan dropping somewhere and Eddie suddenly came into view with his hair up in a ponytail, shirtless, and with his tattoos showing off. Your stomach flipped at the sight, making you step closer to the phone, grabbing onto it.

Your eyes locked with Eddie’s as he too took the phone in his hands, snatching it from Steve, aggressively, and faced the camera to look at you. You weren’t about to faint, he could guess that much, and you didn’t really give off an excited vibe to it.

“You’re going on a date tonight?” He asks and you are about to reply but you get cut off by Steve yelling in the background, as Eddie seems to rush upstairs towards his room.

“My phone Munson! Where are you–”

“Shut the fuck up Harrington, I’ll give it back!” Your eyes widened slightly at the anger you felt in his tone, as if he were having a bad day, but then his eyes turned to you and that anger was no longer there, but an emotion you couldn’t quite describe. “So?”

“U-Um… Yeah, I-I am going on a date tonight, with a coworker actually…” You were embarrassed and you didn’t know why. There was a feeling of pain in your chest, or a feeling of uneasiness in the center of your gut as you saw Eddie’s face contort slightly at the news, to then give you a small smirk.

“And? Do you find him, you know… attractive?” He asks, with a certain nervousness in his tone. He was feeling his chest slightly pressing into his lungs, as if air were about to be gone from them at any second. His fingertips were sweating as he held the phone to his face, looking at you intently, watching your reactions.

“I mean, he is, yeah, so… It can also end in friendship, who knows!” You give a nervous giggle and maybe it ends like that, maybe you find a great potterhead friend in a coworker. Suddenly Robin comes into the camera over your shoulder.

“He is fucking hot, I’m talking blonde, green eyes, AND Harry Potter fan.” She wiggles her eyebrows to Eddie and then to you and for some reason that made Eddie’s stomach flip over. So the guy liked something you liked. Something you were fascinated about. You rolled your eyes at Robin and then talked to Eddie again.

“I was going to tell you, but Robin beat me to it right now.” Eddie’s eyebrows twitched at that. You told Robin first, of course, but the doubt in his mind was still there. When did he ask you out? How long ago was it? Why didn’t you say good afternoon to him first?

“Well, you better gear up for that Angel.” He says pushing up a half smile on his lips, his jaw clenching at the thought of someone else seeing you dressed up. Dressed up in order to get their attention, to fawn over you. Makeup neatly done to accentuate your best features, because you want them to look at you.

“Yeah…” For some reason you couldn’t stop staring at him on the screen, your heart tugging on you for some unknown reason, and you were feeling a little bit lightheaded and his staring was making your body tense.

“Welp Eddie, I have to help her get ready, tell Steve I’ll be there at 8!” Robin says excitedly, about to grab the phone out of your hands but Eddie stops her, flailing a hand around. He took a deep breath in, trying to contain himself at the moment. He had to be a good friend about this, because that’s all he was. Yes, that’s all he was.

“Angel, if you um… if you don’t feel safe at any point, or you feel uncomfortable, you leave, or call me– any of us. Okay?” He says to you, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You felt safe thanks to his words, but there was another feeling, a weird one that you didn’t know how to describe. You gave him a slow nod and your free hand gripped tightly into a fist.

“Y-Yeah… I’ll be fine, I can do this, right?” You look for his reassurance, wanting to know if the past month was worth it, if all the lessons and confidence boosters were going to work for this very moment. He stayed silent for a few seconds, forcing a smile on his lips as he nodded at you.

“Yeah, you got it sweetheart.” He should remind you about body language, he should remind you about the topics one can talk about on a date, he should remind you about how pretty you look without even trying, to not force yourself into doing extra or anything. He should remind you about how great you kiss, how amazing you feel, how great you smell, because that would make you confident. That would make the date go your way and not the other guy’s.

But he just clenched his jaw as you took a deep breath in with a nod, handing the phone back to Robin.

“Okay Eddie, see you later!” And like that, Robin hangs up the call, letting Eddie see his own reflection at the phone’s black screen. His eyebrows were knitted together, face completely tense, and he finally let his hand fall to his side, while the other ran all over his face in frustration.

“MUNSON, MY PHONE!” Steve yelled from downstairs and Eddie clenched his fist around his phone that’s on his side, not even afraid if he was bending it or breaking it. His chest was heaving, up and down, sharp breaths flaring through his nose as the twist in his guts made him even more irritable, each second that passed as he thought about what you were going to wear. What you were going to smell like.

What if the date goes well?

Another scream for Steve made him finally snap out, slamming his fist against the doorway of his room, cracking his neck once as he took a deep breath in to calm himself down.

“Stop pissing your fucking pants Harrington!” He yelled as he headed downstairs again.

He really hoped your date didn’t like anchovy pizza.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, again, for the hundredth time in the day. You were wearing a tight black dress, almost like the purple one, with a leather jacket on top, and then you were wearing black low heel ankle boots. Robin helped with the outfit and the hair, but the makeup you decided to not use much eyeshadow, some neutral for it, and then eyeliner and mascara.

Your lips were glossy, and you looked down at your legs, a deep blush spreading on your cheeks. You shaved. Maybe it won’t lead to that, but you shaved, entirely, just in case because you knew your body was in need, and it had been for a few days. You felt some nausea appearing in your stomach as you stared at your reflection.

Do you even know how to have sex? You’ve only done missionary in your whole life, you don’t even know how to do a blowjob properly, hell, even a handjob! What if you are as stiff as a board? What if your moans are too loud? Would you even moan? You don’t remember moaning much before, not even when you touch yourself, and it’s just you in the room, no one else could hear you.

Your breathing started picking up at the thought of it, making you sit down on the bed. Austin had messaged you and told you to meet him at ‘Il Capo’ which is quite close to your apartment. The closeness made you feel somewhat calmer, but your thoughts were running wild at the possibilities the night might unfold.

But you wanted to feel good, you wanted something or someone to satiate this need that was never there before and you don’t even know why it suddenly appeared. Maybe he can help with that, maybe this is a good thing, maybe you will be able to let go, just like you did with Eddie.

Would he be like Eddie?

You snapped out of your daze as you heard an alarm from your phone, that you set up to make you actually leave your place. You took a deep breath in, getting up from your bed and grabbing your bag, taking a look at yourself once more, before deciding to leave your room and then your apartment.

Every step you took towards your car and every second you drove to the bar, your heart was hammering in your chest, wanting to rip it open, wanting to simply turn and go to Eddie’s to spend the night with him, the boys and Robin. You had to shake that feeling away, knowing that this was good for you, this is a good fucking thing, something you yearned for for a long while.

But as you stood outside the bar for 10 minutes, you were beginning to get fidgety. Maybe you were too early? Maybe it’s normal to not be punctual on a date? What if you come across as too uptight because of it? You didn’t want to make him think that you were a control freak of time, or that you were desperate or–

“Hey!” You heard your name being called, cutting your every thought and you turned around, your eyes almost wide as you had to look up towards the man that was greeting you. He was pretty, too pretty. His blonde hair was the same as you saw on camera, and he was wearing a white shirt, some jeans, and an opaque leather jacket on top that smelled like leather. The collar of his shirt was almost loose, which gave away how his muscles tightened as he bent down slightly to look at you.

“H-Hi Austin!” You slightly winced at how excited or how desperate you must have sounded but your knees were slightly buckling in his presence, your nerves at the tip of your fingertips as he looked at you.

“Sorry, Lorraine was a little intense so I logged off a little bit later than I expected.” He says, wincing slightly but in all honesty, you had just waited 10 minutes, and he was making it seem like he was two hours late, which made you smile and shake your head, feeling a little bit more at ease.

“It’s alright, I didn’t really wait long.” You say to him and he nods towards the bar, guiding you both inside. It was still a little early for people to come in, but it was the time all office workers came for happy hours after a stressful day at work. He picked a rounded booth, and you took notice of the setting. This would allow you both to sit next to each other and not in front, facing one another.

You took a deep breath in as you slid into the booth, him sitting next to you and his cologne suddenly hit you. It was bitter, too bitter for your liking, but it was still a manly smell. He took off his jacket and you blushed as you saw his biceps move, quickly taking off yours so it would feel casual.

Body language, you gotta remember that.

“So, why haven’t we gone out before? I haven’t seen you in like… any of the after office parties and I know you’ve been invited.” He says with a curious smile, looking at you, sitting almost on his side to be able to face you, so you copied his stance, feeling your cheeks get hotter as you looked at him.

You can do this. They don’t have superpowers, he asked you out first, he was interested first.

“I’m more of an introvert, prefer to read or play something. Maybe hang out with my close friends.” You say to him as the waitress comes over to take your order. He orders a glass of Rum and Coke and you get a beer for yourself, with a side of french fries to snack on. That interaction let you take another deep breath to continue the conversation, feeling his body extremely close to yours, but he wasn’t really, your mind was just playing tricks on you, which you cursed in the depth of your brain.

“Oh? You play? I mean, reading I kind of guessed because of the massive library I saw, but I didn’t know you played games.”

And that’s how the conversation flowed, getting to know one another, talking about work and about Lorraine, laughing as you both took your drinks, and you felt nice, the knot still deep in your stomach, but there was something nice about this. He was so much like you, with music, food, movies, books, almost identical.

“Right, and then my friend John, who I love dearly may I say, hugged that cactus, completely drunk out of his mind and we had to sit all around him, with tweezers, plucking all the little thorns out.” You laughed at that story, your eyes teary as you imagined the situation of a plastered guy just believing a cactus in someone's backyard was a person.

“H-Holy shit, that must of hurt!” He laughed with you, laying back on the booth, holding his belly from the strain of it.

“Sure it did, he had little thorns for over a week! He sat down on a chair and a new sting would appear.” He says with a shake of his head, calming his laughter down. You’ve been talking for the past hour and a half, letting yourself go in conversation and fluidity.

“Oh to be the person that took the thorns out of there.” You giggled and he smiled at you, shifting again to face you. You noticed how his eyes changed from playful to a squint almost, and you noticed how they drifted to your lips and back to your eyes.

“So… Now that we know each other, which house do I belong to?” He asks and you smile, facing him as well with a turn of your upper body, squinting your eyes at him. You opened your mouth to speak and he stopped you with a hand up. “Hang on. We gotta set some prizes here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows up in surprise, feeling your chest almost somersaulting from the sudden proposal.

“Okay, if you guess mine right, and I guess yours wrong, I’ll… Do your tax revisions for a week.” You smirked at that, knowing it was a good prize, and you pretended to be deep in thought before nodding at him.

“Alright, and if it’s the other way around? You guess mine, I don’t guess yours?” Your heart went to your throat as he gave you a grin, which made your cheeks flush, and your knees trembled as his eyes scanned your body for a brief second.

“I get to kiss you.” You definitely blushed at that and he noticed because he gave a small chuckle at your reaction. You gulped heavily, your belly turning in every direction possible, as your feet grew cold from your nerves.

“O-Okay…” He stood straight, fixing himself, and gave you a cocky smile, which made you a little bit more comfortable on his side. He was being goofy with you, and you very much appreciated that. “Mmm… I will say Gryffindor.”

He gave you a smile, relaxing his body and you noticed how he scooted closer to you. Blood rushed to your ears as he slowly shook his head at you. You guessed wrong. You took a sharp breath in and raised an eyebrow in question.

“You were wrong.” He chuckles as his eyes scanned you once again.

“And how do I know you are not lying?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling nervous about making a move, but Robin taught you it. Cross your arms under your chest and it will press your chest up a bit, popping it out. It worked, because his eyes drifted there for a millisecond and back to your eyes. He smiled widely, taking his keys out of one of the pockets of his jacket, and there, you saw the Crest of Slytherin dangling around it.

“And now, it’s my turn.” Your chest was ablaze as you copied him, straightening up to look at him, waiting for his response. If he guesses right, he will kiss you. This man wants to kiss you, willingly, and that is boosting you up a little. Feeling desired by a man like him felt nice, good. “Hufflepuff.”

You froze.

He smiled widely at your surprised face, fully knowing he guessed right.

“I don’t even need to ask for proof, thanks to your silent reaction.” You gulped, hoping he wouldn’t hear that and how your belly was turning and jumping, because he was scooting closer and closer, each second that passed. “Do I get my prize now?”

You looked into his green eyes, into his perfect features, in how plump his lips were as he leaned in. The cologne is bitter, too bitter, yet, you close your eyes as the scent heightens, the warmth of his body presses closer, and you remember how the past few days you just needed this. You needed it. So you let yourself go, for once, and then you finally felt it.

Lips pressing against yours.

“Okay, hang on, so I just like–” Robin was three beers in as she gave a sharp turn over her shoulder with a smirk on her face, trying to hold her laughter in, while Steve sat on a chair in front of her with arms crossed and an unamused look on his face.

“You would suck as a stripper. That’s not even a fucking tease.” Steve says with a shake of his head while Billy laughs over at the couch looking at the scene, taking a sip out of his beer.

“Robin, try to like, walk over to him, moving your hips from side to side.” Billy says as Eddie chokes on his own beer. He is on his fourth one, slightly feeling the buzz of it as he leans against one of the walls of their living room.

Steve has been trying to teach Robin some stripper tricks, but the girl is hopeless. She was as stiff as a board as she tried walking sensually towards Steve who started laughing while covering his face with a shake of his head. The music she chose was ‘Super Freak’ and it wasn’t even sexy.

“She is hopeless, okay, Robs, try to, sensually take your jacket off.” Eddie says, a small smirk on his lips. He looked at his phone again, checking the time. 9 PM. And not a single word from you. His heart increased its pumping as he thought of what could have happened. Maybe you were having a great time, maybe he kidnapped you, maybe he murdered you. The possibilities were endless and they all sounded fucking wrong in his mind.

Even the one where you were having a great time with the guy.

Robin giggled and stood in front of Steve, starting to shrug her jacket away but the bell rang, making everyone raise an eyebrow in question, completely confused.

“Didn’t we eat pizza like 10 minutes ago?” Steve asks and Billy gets up from the couch, heading towards the door, looking through the peephole first. His eyes widened and he yanked the door open.

“What are you doing here, sweets?” He asked as you stood at the door with a sour look on your face. Eddie immediately got off the wall as you walked inside the apartment, heels echoing around the room. He watched you with a bewildered look on his face as he studied your outfit and his knees almost buckled at the sight.

You looked absolutely beautiful, and your scent filled the room in one swift movement as you rushed by him. Sweet, almost floral, and god he wanted to grab you right now. Anywhere, at any part, but he noticed your anger, and he looked towards Robin to check on her to see if she knew anything.

Robin was shocked to see her best friend here because she didn’t receive any messages at all, and she hadn’t checked her location for a while, which was her mistake. But you were here now, ripping the fridge open to grab a beer, closing the door and opening it for yourself, taking a large gulp for a few seconds.

“Um…” Steve got up from the chair and looked at Eddie, motioning him with his head to go talk to you. Something was clearly bothering you, and they all suspected it had to do with your date. Eddie gulped, walking towards you as you sighed heavily with your eyes closed.

“Angel, everything okay?” You opened your eyes again and looked at his brown ones that were filled with worry. Your heart softened at that, and your anger washed away a bit, shaking your head.

“It wasn’t what I expected. I don’t want to talk about it.” You say with a grunt, going over to the couch to sit down with a grunt. Everyone else looked at each other in concern for a minute, wondering what happened or what’s wrong with you until you talked again with a confused frown to your face. “Why is super freak playing?”

At that Robin beamed, knowing you needed some cheering up even if the alcohol was buzzing in her body and she put her beer down on the coffee table, earning you a confused look on your face, looking at her.

“The boys were teaching me how to be a stripper.” You choked on your spit, coughing a bit at her words. Your eyes immediately widened as you looked at the three boys who had playful smiles on their lips.

“Excuse me… what?” You say in surprise as Steve scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You are a lame excuse for a stripper, you wouldn’t get a dollar placed on your belt.” He says and Billy laughs as he walks over to sit on your other side, taking his beer in his hand again and taking a sip from it. Eddie was trying to be subtle about it, taking short glances at you and your outfit, seeing your legs pulled together as you bent forward to listen to Robin.

“It’s just if my work bores me!” She giggled and you noticed that everyone already had a few drinks ahead of you, making you smile at how funny and fond everyone was being to each other, but there was still a storm inside of your head, which Eddie noticed.

“Come on sweetheart, chug that beer down and get in tune with us.” You looked at him with a surprised look on your face and he just smiled and winked at you, causing your belly to simply burst with something. Your thighs clenched as you looked down at your beer bottle and you tipped it back, starting to chug it down.

And as you drank the second one, and it complemented with the two drinks you had back at the bar, the buzz was already in your body, giggling as Robin bickered with Steve about his hip movements, and how they were not normal for her to do, yet, she claimed she was good with her dancing.

“Robin, you can’t just simply sit on the lap, that would be overly sexual.” Billy states and Robin rolled her eyes, drinking out of her fourth beer, shaking her head.

“You guys do worse!” She exclaims and you giggle at that and nod, completely agreeing with your friend. You still remember Steve on his knees with water being poured on his almost naked body, you remember Billy grazing his lips with Barb after he licked her neck like a lollipop and then you remember Eddie. His fingers in someone else’s throat, and his lips over another girl’s lips.

The grip on your beer tightened at the memory.

“Okay, Robin, show it to me.” You suddenly say and everyone’s eyes widened as you went to sit on the chair that was in the middle of the room. You looked at her defiantly, now your confidence skyrocketed thanks to the alcohol in your system and she gave you a puzzled look as you took a dollar out of one of the pockets of your jacket, dingling it around. “You make me speechless, this dollar is yours.”

At that Robin beamed, and ran to Billy’s phone which was connected on bluetooth to a speaker and put on ‘Under the influence’ by Chris Brown. You winced at the artist choice, but kept a straight face either way. You wanted to laugh really, as Robin started swaying from side to side, and you had to give it to her, she was really trying.

The boys were all laughing, almost grabbing their bellies as Robin approached you, holding in her laughter while biting her lips together, trying really hard to not lose it right then and there. She got in front of you and then turned around to shake her ass at you and that made you lose it completely, letting out a big laugh as you tried to shoo her away.

“Oh come on! I am trying to be sexy here!” She exclaims and you shake your head wildly, trying to hold in your laughter but it is almost impossible as Steve chokes up on his words.

“Jesus christ, Robs I didn’t teach you that!” Robin glared at her friend while you giggled behind her, still sitting and suddenly, Robin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. It was risky, and she knew it, but she wanted to know, she really was intrigued by your reactions.

“Alright, Mr. Perfect Stripper, go get that dollar then.” Your eyes widened at those words as well as everyone else’s in the room. Eddie’s stomach turned, feeling like Robin had crossed a line she shouldn’t have but then your words startled him, almost made him sweat over.

“The dollar is still in my hands.” You giggle out, actually feeling the situation comical, even if your nerves were jumping all around in your body. You trusted the boys as friends now, maybe that’s why you didn’t feel the embarrassment of the first time you’ve ever seen them. You saw them as people now, people that had a job, and people that became your friend. Dear friends even.

“Oh, I am getting that dollar.” Steve says cockily. The same song was still playing, as he walked over to you, Robin scrambling away to the kitchen counter to start preparing more drinks, but always keeping an eye over you.

Eddie gulped heavily, rising up from the couch to take his place back onto a wall, not being able to sit down any longer, as Steve walked all around your chair, looking down at you and brushing his fingertips over your shoulder. Your face remained stern, arms crossed over your chest as you followed Steve with your eyes.

You actually followed him with your eyes.

His eyebrow raised up when you didn’t even budge by his touch, giving Eddie a glance so that he knows he is still testing the waters with you. That made Eddie let out a breath of relief, knowing Steve wasn’t doing this with any other intention but to try to get you to give him the dollar.

Accepting the challenge, Steve cocked his head to the side as he stood next to you, his hip right at your eye level, and you kept your eyes forward, Billy holding in a laugh as you kept your lips tight, holding in your laughter as you clenched your eyes when you felt Steve slowly swaying downwards, grazing his belt against your arm.

For some reason, you wanted to laugh really hard, because this felt like when Robin danced on you. You didn’t even think it was sexy or with a sexual intention. He just wanted to get the dollar out of your hand, and that made you even more cocky. His face was inches from yours when you opened your eyes, and you shook your head at him.

His mouth fell open, giving Billy a surprised look on his face. Eddie clapped in the background making Steve jerk his head to glare at him. Robin let out a breath of relief as she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh look, it seems you aren’t perfect stripper after all.” She says with her tongue between her lips that turned into a smile. Steve got up, groaning as he walked towards the kitchen counter to grab the rum and coke she prepared and took a long sip. He wasn’t going to lie, a little bit of his ego was smashed there, but there was a part of him that was happy you didn’t sweat, or fainted thanks to his closeness.

You were looking at Robin who winked at you, raising her glass up as a cheer, and you raised your beer bottle to her, and as you were about to put the dollar bill back in your jacket, your wrist was grabbed, gently, and you jerked your head up towards the person who was holding you.

“Hey, I’m getting that dollar out of your hand, okay sweets?” You blushed at the pet name, and you know Billy’s sex appeal is much bigger than Steve’s, which made your body shiver quite a bit. Eddie took a deep breath in as Billy glanced at him once. The song was still on, the chorus hitting your ears as Billy’s hand grabbed onto the beer bottle to take it away from you and place it on the coffee table.

You gulped heavily as he hovered over you, and slowly, his hands went towards your shoulder blades, sliding them under the jacket and you felt his palms on the skin of your shoulders. Your breath hitched at that as he slowly took your jacket off, sliding it off your arms to then throw it across the room and onto the couch.

His hips stayed on your line of vision as he slowly swayed them side to side, unbuttoning the first row of buttons on his shirt to reveal his chest. This escalated way too much from what Steve did and Robin was in full alert as she looked at the scene. She was going to kick Billy’s ass if you fainted right then and there. But you didn’t, you weren’t even moving as you clasped the dollar in your left hand.

Billy tilted his head at you, amused by how different you are from a month ago, daring to look him in the eye as he moved sensually in front of you. He licked his lips as he walked behind you, his hands being placed on your shoulders again, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Is that dollar mine yet?” And Billy smirked when you didn’t say anything, but your shoulders started shaking, alarming him, taking his hands off you to then hear you finally crack up, your laughter filling the room. Billy's eyes widened and he frowned in disbelief as everyone else followed in giggles.

“Look at her go!” Steve says clinking his glass with Robin’s who had a wide smile on her face, taking a gulp out of her drink. You were almost in tears as your head turned to look at Billy.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just, I couldn’t help it!” You say between giggles and Billy rolled his eyes, buttoning his shirt again and walking to get a glass for himself.

“That dollar is hanging onto dear life.” Robin says and you giggle about to get up to retrieve your beer again but the lights suddenly dim, making everyone turn to the person near the light switch.

“You really forgot about me, Angel?” Your heart stopped when you saw him. He had put his hair up in a bun, his black shirt tight on his body, and shit, you didn’t take a good look at him when you first entered because your mind was definitely somewhere else, but now, your mind was on him. As well as your eyes, your scent, and you felt your breathing hitch at every thud his boots made against the floor.

You heard your friends cheer on the low, and whistle, but you didn’t care, not when he suddenly got on his knees, crawling slowly to where you were, your thighs clenching tightly as your breathing picked up a pace because your heart started hammering wildly in your chest.

He smirked, licking the inside of his bottom lip as he finally reached your feet, taking one ankle in his hands and raising it up, towards his face. Your leg started tingling from the sudden touch, and your belly was burstin with flames at the sight. Suddenly, it felt as if it were just the two of you in the room, all alone, as Eddie looked at you with eyes that one could only describe as adoration.

He smiled as he took off your left boot, letting it fall to his side, and he led his lips towards the skin of your ankle. And oh god, that felt as if an electric shock shot from the place he pressed his lips on, and up towards your hips until it reached your brain. Your breathing was becoming too elaborated, but it was different from the other times you were breathless.

This felt too different.

His lips kept grazing your skin as he slowly started going up your leg, kissing your calf, softly, almost unnoticeable, but for you, it felt as if he were branding himself with hot iron lips. Everything inside you was burning, absolutely everything, but you didn’t want it to stop. Instead, you wanted it to keep spreading, more, and more.

Eddie was in a completely different battle all by himself, because you tasted sweet. Too sweet. Or maybe his brain was making it up because you drive him crazy. Maybe his brain was making it up because he was delighted to have you here instead of you being with your other date. Maybe his brain was making it up because he wanted to taste more. He needed to taste more of you.

You don't know what you did, did to me; Your body lightweight speaks to me.

He kissed your knee tentatively, looking up at you with his big brown doe eyes and your ankle started to finally lower itself as Eddie’s hand started moving upwards, feeling your skin under his fingertips, until the pressure got tighter on your thigh, making you gasp in your throat. He smirked at your reaction, slowly pulling himself up, in a crawl, first gripping on your thigh for leverage, and then his face came up in front of yours.

Your eyes locked with his again, and there was a connection that felt like nothing you ever felt before. Something that your heart was trying to tell you, and your belly jumped with excitement, but your brain was not cooperating into finding a word for it. His hand gripped the back of your chair, over your shoulder, his tattooed arm pressing against your skin as he leaned closer towards you, and then your mouth fell slightly open as the fingertips of his right hand touched the hem of your dress.

I don't know what you did, did to me; Your body lightweight speaks to me.

Your hand trembled, yet, your eyes never left his, even if his breath was hitting your face, and the tension Eddie was feeling with you was nothing like he ever felt before. This is definitely different than before, and he knew it, and he was wondering if you knew it. And he almost couldn’t help himself as his eyes drifted to your lips.

He wanted another taste. He needed another taste. The sweetness of your skin still lingering on his lips as he licked them to keep it in his mouth a little longer. But his eyes snapped open from the daze when he felt something in the front pocket of his jeans. He looked down to see you putting the dollar in there, and everyone else suddenly reappeared in the room.

He looked up into your eyes again, and your breathing was heavy, looking at him as your hand dropped to your side after putting the dollar in his front pocket. Nervousness, it was definitely there, you knew it was there, but the shyness was being overpowered by something else.

What is it?

“Now we know who the perfect stripper is.” Robin says excitedly with a squeal, which finally makes you and Eddie break from your trance. He broke into a big wide smirk, as Billy turned the lights on again with his arms crossed. He held a smirk as he looked at your face, which was a blushing mess, yet you were still looking at the brown eyes in front of you, not caring if he could see that. Eddie definitely had an advantage in this game.

Eddie pulled away from you, grabbing onto your hand to pull you up from the chair, which made you center yourself into reality once more. Maybe it was the alcohol, it definitely was that, but that growing need was in your belly again. Why now when you’re with friends? This doesn’t happen when you are hanging out with them, or it shouldn’t. You slid your foot back onto the shoe that Eddie took off, feeling the heat at the tip of your toes.

“Of course I was going to win.” Eddie says as he tries to push his nervousness away, walking towards the drinks to take a sip from one glass. Act nonchalant, act like there is no tension in the air and everything will be fine. He had to act as if he wasn’t going to kiss you right then and there in front of everyone else.

Robin was looking at you, trying to hide a smile while sipping her glass as you looked down, heading to grab a glass of your own. You shouldn’t drink anymore, but your throat was dry so you took just one more sip, and that’s all. Maybe that burning feeling would go away, it must be the alcohol producing it, and you say it like a mantra, to make sure that it’s real.

“I think the best stripper would be her if she dared to do so. I just have a feeling.” Billy says while pointing at you, squinting his eyes as he looks down at you, and that makes you smile, the tension in your shoulders disappearing for a second.

“Oh, now that would be dangerous.” Eddie says as he takes a sip while looking down at you as well, and you catch his eyes, a playful look on them, a hint of something you are not distasteful of, and you smirk up at him, feeling yourself burst with sudden excitement.

“You afraid I’ll take all your clients away?” You ask and he cocks an eyebrow up at the shift of your tone, the confident voice you just blurted out of your lips almost knocking him to the ground as he squinted slightly at you.

“They’re all women.” He says and you shrug, looking at Robin.

“Would the ladies like me?” You ask and Robin smiles, winking at you over her glass.

“Definitely.” You give Eddie a triumphant smile as he rolled his eyes, but deep in his mind he was imagining things. Oh, so many things. Things he shouldn’t think about with you. Things he should run away from, but even so, he knows it’s too late for it. He knows it, and even if there is a part of him that wants to run away from it, he also wants to embrace it.

“Robin, make me another one of these.” Steve slightly slurs as Billy nods and hands his glass towards Robin. Eddie does not, sipping his last drink of the night as he watched you not drinking anymore either. He has questions afterall, so many, and you were not going to leave until you’ve answered them. Maybe it was to appease his mind, maybe it was because he needed reassurance of some sort. Maybe it was because he wanted to know if your date failed.

And he hoped, even if evil, that it did.

“Shh!” Eddie says as you both walk upstairs. You were holding in your giggles as you gave a final look at the plastered and passed out Steve, sleeping on the floor with a pillow under his head, Robin resting her head on the small of his back, salivating it completely, while Billy snored on the couch with his jacket over his face.

They had three more glasses of whatever concoction Robin made, and it took no more than an hour for them to simply pass out drunk. Eddie and you had quit long ago, still a little fuzzy from alcohol but nothing like the people in the living room. You follow him into his room, and you realize that you’ve never been in there before. You walked in with an awe look on your face, looking around and Eddie leaned against the doorway, smiling while crossing his arms over his chest, looking at you as you inspected his room.

His room was dark colored, some posters hung on the walls, from different bands that he had mentioned he liked, completely different to the ones you liked, but you didn’t mind listening to his music every once in a while. A large bed was in the middle of it, covered in black comforters, because of course it was going to be all dark. Your eyes glanced at his desk, seeing various notebooks piled up and what looked like a folder.

You walk towards it, and read the top of it. ‘Hellfire Club’ and a logo of a demon with dice all around. You are guessing this is his Dungeon Master guide. He had mentioned his high school club to you, and you also knew he took the role seriously whenever he got together with his old friends. Your eyes caught on something on the desk and your eyes bulged out of your sockets, taking the frame in your hands.

“Oh my god… Is this you?!” You ask excitedly as you look at a young Eddie with a buzz cut on his head, missing tooth, smiling next to Wayne with a fish in their hands. Eddie winced at how quick you found that picture, but he was actually quite fond of it, hence why he kept it and even had it on display.

“Yeah. My old man made me cut it. Told me long hair is not very… manly.” His eyes drifted to the floor and you looked at him, realizing this is not a topic he likes to discuss. You knew little to nothing about Eddie’s family, apart from Wayne, Claudia and Dustin, and it seemed he preferred to keep it that way with you. But it was okay, they were the only ones that you really cared to know about, because they cared about Eddie.

“If he saw you now, he would eat his words, wouldn’t he?” Eddie chuckled at that, looking up at you again, his breath taken away when you were fondly smiling at him. He didn’t realize it before, but his heart rate had picked up a pace the moment you walked into the room with no problems at all.

“Okay, now that we’re alone.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and you feel yourself grow hot on your cheeks and your chest at the realization you are actually alone, in his room, with him. You had to take a deep breath in, he was your friend, this is no different than all the other times you’ve been alone with him. “Care to tell me what happened with your date?”

You closed your eyes as you sighed. Your mood lowered in an instant as soon as he asked that question to you. There was anger in your chest, but also uncertainty, and with a lot of doubt. You knew the question would pop up at some point, because you showed up unannounced, didn’t say anything, and acted as if nothing happened today.

“It just… It wasn’t what I thought it would be.” You blushed slightly at your response, not wanting him to think you were a picky person, but maybe you were.

“Angel, gotta give me more than that. You didn’t look happy at all when you came in here.” He walked towards you to get a hold of your shoulder for you to look up at him. He gave a nod to his bed, motioning you to sit down with him at the edge of it, next to one another. He took off his boots and you looked down at your bare feet. You had taken yours off downstairs, feeling a little cramped from wearing them too long.

“I– I don’t know…” You weren’t looking at him, and his gut turned at the nervousness in your voice. He was afraid something was done to you without your consent, but you didn’t seem nervous with him or with the guys before, so that theory kind of runs thin.

“Sweetheart, did he say something? Or did he do something you didn’t like?” He asked you and your eyes widened, shaking your head at him with surprised eyes.

“No, no, he was… He was sweet, and he was easy to talk to…” He held your gaze, trying to read you as his brows furrowed in confusion, as well as his fist clenched against his knee.

“Then…? I don’t understand what happened.” He reminds you, once more, and you sigh heavily as you hide your face in your hands, resting your elbows on your knees, bending forward.

“I just– He was attractive, he was, I know it! I was so nervous, super nervous, and we talked about Harry Potter, and music, and food, and we’re so fucking alike and…” You didn’t know where you were going with this, but you were trying to explain what’s going on in your head, you really are, but you also feel embarrassed to do so, to say it to him.

“I am… still a little bit lost darling.” He was really confused, and he cannot even read what’s going on with you. This new side of you is baffling him, because you were easy to read before, see what was on your mind because of your eye movements, or tug on your lips. Now, he cannot really say what’s happening to you, and that kind of bothers him, annoys him really.

“I— God, I can’t say it to you. I just– I just thought it was going to be different than what I expected.” You say putting your hands down and he could finally see how bashful you looked, embarrassed, and he wanted to know why you were feeling in such a way.

“You can tell me anything Angel. If it means it can help you understand yourself, then I am more than willing to listen to you.” He softly says and you slowly turn your head to look at him, finding understanding and care in his features. Your heart was in your throat as you felt the blood flow even more towards your cheeks. You looked down at your fingers again, playing with one of your silver rings to distract yourself.

“Okay I– I um… I know there’s supposed to be… something else. When I kissed him, and it was a good kiss even, I just–”

“You kissed him?” Oh his own heart felt like exploding right now. He knew the vein in his forehead was about to pop off, but he didn’t care. He felt like a punch was delivered towards the side of his body, but he gulped the green vile forming, clenching tightly onto his knee again.

“Yeah– He kissed me first, and it was good, really good!” You weren’t looking at him, still down at your fingers so you weren’t able to see the redness that got into Eddie’s face as you said those words. “But… I didn’t– I expected… sparks? Or… Fire?”

That got the green monster to vanish away from Eddie’s body. He gave a slow nod in thought as you explained, and he came to a simple conclusion, that he knew you weren’t experienced with it because you never felt it.

“You weren’t attracted to him.” You blinked at that with a confused frown on your face and finally looked up at him.

“But he was attractive.” You defend and he shakes his head at you with a soft smile on his face.

“It doesn’t mean you will automatically be attracted to them. For example, Billy, you don’t find him attractive.” He frowned at his words in thought, and his brain turned its gears by itself, noticing you were still looking at him, without answering. “You’re not attracted to Billy, right?”

“Oh! No! I see him as a friend.” You replied in surprise and he smiled in return, his heart jumping in excitement at your answer.

“Attraction has to do more with… a person. Sure, you can feel attracted to a guy who is attractive only by sight, but maybe when you get to know him, it’s not what you expected.” You frowned at that, tilting your head to the side to look towards the ground as your thoughts started processing in your head.

Austin was perfect. He liked your music, pop, rock, some jazz probably, then the food, it was almost the same, except for your liking on putting fries on a milkshake, or anchovy pizza. Then the Harry Potter talk was smooth, charming, and it felt as if you were talking with…

With a friend.

“Oh…” Was all you managed to say and Eddie knew you finally understood the meaning of it. “Oh, that sucks, and I even shaved.” You slump again with a sigh, not even registering what you just said, until a second later you did. Your eyes went wide in realization, slowly turning to look at him whose mouth was open with a bewildered look in his face.

Did you say you shaved? You, who had problems with kissing just two weeks ago, suddenly had the bravery of sleeping with someone on the first date? What happened in the past two weeks that he hadn’t noticed for you to suddenly become bold like that?

“I-I…” You were red in the face and the nerves were getting to you, so, the words started vomiting out of your mouth, without processing at all in your head. “I just been very needy lately, out of nowhere, and it never happened before, and I don’t know, maybe now that I can finally talk to guys, that need reappeared and it’s been so fucking long and I don’t know–”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on, slow down, please.” He was overwhelmed by the sudden information you were giving to him and he was trying to process it all by closing his eyes to take a deep breath in. Needy. You were needy. And that is not doing good things to him right now. He is thinking of so many things in such a rushed pace that he cannot swallow it all down in one go.

You looked down, biting the skin next to your nail on your thumb, trying to appease some of the nerves and the nausea that was whirling in your stomach, ready to get out and make an even more fool out of yourself. How could you just blurt that out to him? Why did you do that?

“F-Forget what I said– Please–” You made him snap out of his thoughts, with a shake of his head and even if his stomach was about to explode in a million pieces and he cursed at himself as the blood was starting to slowly rush south on him.

“Calm down, it’s fine, just– So, you thought that it would be a good opportunity to…” He didn’t even finish the words, not wanting to imagine the outcome of you actually going with that chance. You swallowed the big lump in your chest, but his eyes were looking into yours, looking for understanding, for you to try to explain yourself to him.

Making you feel safe.

“I– Yes… I just thought that… If I– slept with someone who I found attractive then… I would feel good…” And there it was. Eddie’s eyes saddened as you looked down at the floor again. You just confessed to him that in none of the times you were intimate with a man, you felt good. “I know they tried… I remember them trying, but, when you are not attracted to the person, your mind is not really– Not into it.”

And Eddie’s eyes flickered with something, a switch was pressed inside of him as he looked down at your frame, defeated, and thinking something was wrong with you. He didn’t want you to feel that way, not for a single second. His hands were burning as he raised one towards your thigh, pressing it gently on top. You shivered at the sudden touch, looking down at the rings that grasped your thigh.

“What you need to do is shut your brain. You think too much about what the other person is doing, and who the person is, when sometimes you don’t have to think of any of those things, because maybe those guys you’ve been with, at least one probably did a good job, but you were too caught up in your mind that you didn’t let yourself go with it.” He explained softly, as calmly as possible for you and your eyes widened slightly at that.

You’re always in your mind, even when you’re touching yourself. That’s why you never remember who you’re picturing or if you’re even imagining something at all, and maybe that’s why it takes you too long to finally reach that peak you look for. But how do you get out of your mind? How do you make it stop processing any kind of thought?

“I… I don’t know how to do that, Eds…” His eyes closed at the nickname, feeling the sweetness in his tongue at it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he opened his eyes again to look at you. His control was slowly slipping away, he knew it, because the idea that came to his head, the thought of it, the craziness of it, was driving him mad with desire. He was nervous to ask, he was nervous, for the first time in his life in making a move. But it could help you, that’s what he keeps repeating to himself.

Everything is in order to help you.

His hand on your thigh slowly raised up, getting hold of your jaw with his thumb and index finger, making you slowly turn to look at him, and your eyes widened at seeing him much closer than before. Your breathing was caught in your throat as he stared down at you, his lips slightly agape, and you could swear you could hear the beat of your heart bouncing at every wall in the room.

“Let me teach you Angel.” He softly said, and you froze.

Is he meaning what you think he is meaning? But friends don’t do this, friends are just friends like you were with Robin, Steve and Billy. Maybe he is just helping you, no, you’re sure he is just helping you. No other intention involved to that, and you have to push him away. You have to say no, you have to deny it, you have to reject it, because there’s no possible way he would willingly do this.

But there was a fog in his pupils, something you don’t think ever saw before, not when men looked at you, but Eddie it’s not the first time you’ve seen it. You wondered if your eyes looked the same, if your eyes were showing him that feeling you cannot describe by yourself, that desire you had been feeling of wanting more.

“I’ll help you shut your mind off. So… Please– Please let me make you feel good.”

Your heart almost stopped beating at his words.

He was begging and he knew that, but if he didn’t have a taste of you now, in any way, his mind was going to fail him. He was sure he was gonna go crazy if he couldn’t touch you, whether be with his fingers, with his palms, with a graze of his arm against yours, or with his lips.

His lips were inching closer to you, but you knew that without approval he was not going to kiss you. Because it was Eddie. Eddie who’s always been careful with you. Eddie who made you laugh on stressful days at work. Eddie who also came to you for his own bad days. Eddie who always makes you feel safe no matter what you’re doing or where you are.

And you wanted more. More since that night. More since his lips touched yours days ago, counting the hours and minutes to feel something like that again. It was just the feeling of it you wanted, that’s what you kept telling yourself, what you KEEP telling yourself just to save it all. Just to save this line. A line that if you crossed, you might end up hurt.

But right now, his words are the only thing that you could think about. And you felt it. You felt what you were seeking with Austin, what you couldn’t feel, what you felt in the living room, what you felt by yourself in your room.

Burning.

You gave him a short and slow nod, something he really was not expecting, but he wasn’t going to question you on it. He was going to be greedy, he knew this, he knew he was being selfish, but can you blame him? You were on his bed, wearing a short black dress, your shoulder exposed for him to bite on, your skin glistening for him to kiss it, your neck decorated with a thin golden necklace, which also had a sweet scent emanating from it.

So he leaned down, his palm pressing on your cheek, pulling you into him, pressing his lips against yours, once again. Your heart was elated, gleaming with excitement and happiness and your brain had to work again, despite the haziness and despite the turning of your stomach, and you returned the kiss.

Your hands twitched on your knees, wanting to grab onto him, wanting to touch him, wanting him to be closer and you didn’t know if you should. As his lips moved with yours, you felt yourself moving closer to him, just one single scooch, just one simple movement that impulsed him, eager, to hold your other cheek with his free hand, cradling you in them.

You felt his fingers sliding a bit towards the back of your head, his fingertips on your nape, sending electricity to places you never felt before. Your blood was rushing to your ears, but you could still hear the smacking of your lips in the room, and even if your mind was telling you to be embarrassed, that you should be, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel it. Because the way he was kissing you, the feeling he was igniting in you, was way bigger than your nerves, than your embarrassment, than your bashfulness.

He ran his tongue on your bottom lip, and this time you didn’t even hesitate to allow his entrance. He groaned into your mouth as his tongue touched yours, and that sound must have been the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard in your life, and he was just kissing you. Was that a good sign? Was he feeling the burning you were feeling as well?

He couldn’t stop tasting you, he couldn’t stop kissing you, you were addicting, like the ambrosia the gods had promised, and he didn’t believe he would ever get enough of it. Of you. He definitely can’t get enough of you, it was not possible. Your tongue was shy, but soft, following his movements, making him go crazier each second the kiss turned even more heavier than before.

He pulled away slowly, to your dismay, because you wanted to keep kissing him, not realizing your thighs were clenching together as your hands gripped onto your skin. He inspected you for a second, his breath a little heavy as he pressed a peck to your lips again, and you were surprised by that gentle touch, until his next kiss was on your cheek. Then, he kissed your jaw, all sweet and soft kisses but that were burning you in every possible good way.

His hands went away from your cheeks, and one rested on the back of your head, gently gripping on your hair to pull your neck back, making your eyes go wide and your stomach turn with a sudden flip. He noticed how you tensed at the movement and he was going to tell you to stop, that he will back off. But he was selfish, so fucking selfish.

“Don’t think… Close your eyes Angel, and let yourself feel.” And with that, he pressed a soft, nervous kiss on your pulse point. That was enough to send a shiver down your spine, goosebumps emerging on your arms, and you knew you had to hold onto him. Your hand shot to the back of his head, and he was surprised that you were touching him right now, yet, a smile appeared on his lips and he hoped you couldn’t feel it, glad you couldn’t see it.

Because that would give him away.

He pressed another kiss on your neck, this time more firmly, tasting your perfume in his tongue, making him go even madder than before, the small string of his self control ready to snap. Your mind was a jumbled mess, but the burning was unbearable now. It was all over your body, but it was even more intense on where he was kissing.

He tested the waters, by nibbling once and gently on your skin, and he felt you shiver, moving him slightly in response. Oh he was loving your reactions to him. He has to make you feel good. He has to. He needs to. Because his imagination of how you would react to him touching you, worshiping you, caring for you, was making him even more desperate to have you.

Your mind was slowly turning hazy as you felt him suddenly sucking on your pulse point, and that made a small moan get caught in your throat, vibrating against his lips. And that was it for Eddie. His free hand finally raised from his knee, to move towards your exposed one, gently touching it with his fingertips first, before his palm fully rested on top of it.

Your thighs clenched again and he noticed. He was making you feel like this, he was making you tremble slightly, by the grace of his lips, by his touch, and, god, he needed more. His hand started moving up and you felt everything you felt an hour ago, but this time, it heightened because of the kisses he was leaving on the skin of your neck.

His fingertips were on your thigh and he pressed them tentatively against your skin, and you jumped slightly at the pressure. Your eyes were closed as you felt him suck on your neck again, but a little lower this time. His lips moved closer to your collarbone, leaving a gentle yet scorching kiss there, and you gasped when you felt him bite where your bone would be.

He was holding his own groans back, and he knew you would be able to see the growing hardness in his pants. He didn’t want you to think this was about him, no, this was all about you, on teaching you to enjoy yourself, teaching you how to feel, teaching you that anyone can make you feel good.

That HE can make you feel good.

He pulled away from you and you almost whined at the loss of contact, missing his warm breath against your skin but he had to check on you, know if you wanted to keep moving forward with him. He gulped when you looked down on him, half lidded eyes that were almost lost in the sensations he just gave you. He wanted to smirk to himself, a victory in his chest forming at seeing you coming undone under his hands.

“You alright darling?” His voice was low, sending a chill down your body, almost trembling in his hands as he held you. You wanted to kiss him again, you wanted him to kiss your neck again, you wanted more. You gave him a slow nod and he had to even out his breath so you wouldn’t notice his excitement. “Come here.”

He got on the bed, sliding towards the head of it, to sit against his headboard with his legs open, flexing his knees. Your eyes widened when you saw him like that, but you were magnetized to him, as if you were in a drunken state. He patted his inner thigh, motioning you to go to him and that you did, crawling on all fours towards him and he almost moaned, literally moaned at that sight.

He was going crazy about you, he knew that, every move you made was like a stab in his heart, in his groin, just any part of his body, and when you were crawling like that, he was even more afraid of what he could possibly do. Of what he was capable of doing. But he cared too much about you, that’s why, he is only helping you for now.

Your eyes were trained on his and when you finally arrived in front of him, he held your shoulders to turn you around, making you sit in between his legs, your back almost pressing against his chest. Your legs were tight together, straight in front of you. Your stomach was almost hurting from the amount of knotting that was happening, and you were afraid of popping your liver or something. It was too straining.

“Now, here’s what I want you to do Angel…” He pushed your hair away from your right shoulder, and you trembled when you felt his lips press on your bare skin, goosebumps raising on your arms as you listened to him. His right hand came to press onto your thigh again, grazing it with his fingertips. “I want you to fully disconnect from your brain.”

“Eddie–” Doubt was starting to fill in your head again, the line being there, the line that you don’t want to cross, and the line that you don’t want to break because of this.

“No, no… Don’t think. Just feel, heighten your sense of touch…” He started tracing his fingers upwards on your thigh, shivers being sent towards your legs as you looked down at his movements. His lips were suddenly pressed in between your shoulder and neck, making you gasp as his other hand, pressed on the other side of your neck, tilted your head to the side to give him more access to your skin.

His right hand pressed more firmly against your skin now, slowly trying to get in between your thighs. You felt suddenly a wave of heat rush through you, your skin burning from how flustered you suddenly got and he noticed once again by how you tense your shoulders.

“I– I don’t know–” But you wanted to. You wanted to know, but your head was working again, unlike a few minutes ago. He shook his head slightly, whispering low into your ear, his breath hitting just right to make you almost whimper and tremble at the feeling.

“Feel me. Feel me touching your skin, feel my lips on your neck, the sensation it causes. Don’t think about me, just feel.” And his hand finally nudged in between your thighs as he pressed a kiss right below your ear, making a moan get trapped in your throat again. He pulled you flush against his chest now, as his hand started pushing your leg open.

The knots in your stomach went crazy now, thinking of what he was doing, feeling the fire on his fingertips. He was spreading your legs open, and that made you realize that the heat was below. It had always been deep in your belly, yearning, wanting, desiring. The need you’ve been feeling all this time was multiplied by a hundred right now, and you wanted it to be over, because it was unbearable.

So, you helped him, by spreading your legs open, your knees hitting his as you pulled them up.

He smirked as he glanced down, feeling you breathing heavily against him. This was it, you were trusting him, completely giving yourself to him, and he had to make a decision. He could stop, he could go back to just being a friend that helps here and there, but no more than that, not this.

Or he could keep being selfish.

He sucked on your sweet spot, making you groan slightly, but it was a way to distract you from when his fingers started caressing your inner thigh. Soft, grazing his fingertips, giving a soft press as he felt your legs move slightly at his touch.

“Can I make you feel good?” He whispered against your skin, for just one last approval, because even if he had his own desire, his own selfishness, greediness, you were always going to be first. Always putting you first, above all. You let out a content breath, knowing this, knowing he was caring for you. You gave a final nod, and that’s all he needed.

He raised the hem of your dress even more, because it had moved up when he was touching your inner thighs, but he needed more access. He slowly moved his hand as his lips nibbled on your shoulder, until he finally felt the lace of your underwear, and his eyes almost widened when he pressed a bit more onto it.

You were wet. Completely, and for him.

He took a deep breath in, trying to not think about how painful his hard on was in his pants, and finally cupped you through your underwear, making you gasp and almost jerk out of his grasp. It wasn’t even a full on touch, it was soft, and gentle, yet it had provoked a feeling inside of you that was too intense, but you needed more, god, you needed more.

Desperately.

“Eddie– Please…” And he couldn’t believe the words leaving your mouth, because you were asking him to go forward, asking him to move faster, and he was going to comply. He wanted nothing more than to please you, fully, entirely, until you couldn’t breathe normally.

He finally started tracing circles against your clothed clit, slow, small, and you tilted your head back, eyes closed, resting against his shoulder. Your breathing became more erratic as you felt his lips against your neck again, his tongue licking on your skin as his movements became faster, one of your hands raised to cover your mouth so that the moans wouldn’t come out, while the other was gripping onto his thigh tightly.

“No, nothing of that.” He took his hand away from your neck to grab onto the wrist that was over your mouth. You gasped at his actions, wanting to hold back on your noises and he raised his lips against your ear again, grazing them against the skin now. “Letting go means your voice as well.”

You were never vocal, you didn’t even know if they were nice, or if they were just horrible and embarrassing, but all thought was cut off when you felt his fingertips on the edge of your underwear, pulling the elastic up so they could move under the fabric. Your heart stopped when you felt him, raw, against your clit, and you let out the first small moan out of your lips, almost a whimper.

And Eddie lost it.

He attacked your neck again, this time, more forcefully than before as his index and middle finger started circling on your bud, wanting to hear more of those moans, wanting to feel you move against him even more, wanting you to completely lose yourself. You were wet, too perfectly wet for him, and he was trying really hard to keep a straight mind but it was becoming a losing battle with each moan that came out of your mouth.

He ran his fingers down, through your wet folds and you gave a breathy sigh, your chest trembling at the sensation of it. You never felt this, not even with yourself, because you never really cared to explore. You just put on the vibrator on your clit and waited, and waited, but recently you didn’t have to wait much, for the past few weeks, your climaxes came quicker than before.

He coated his fingers in your slick, wetting them properly as he kissed under your ear again to keep your sensations going all over the place. He wanted to touch your breasts as well, he wanted to see them, he really needed to pull your dress down, but he knew that would take this whole thing somewhere else, and even if he desperately wanted to, he was keeping his word on just making YOU feel good.

Your eyes widened when you felt his middle finger slowly thrusting inside of you, making way, spreading you gently, but it was enough for you to arch your back slightly, wanting more of it, more of the friction it was bringing and Eddie smirked against your skin at your reaction. He started moving, slowly, in and out, testing how you moved and reacted, but then your moans increased a little bit in volume.

He didn’t care about the people in the living room, not right now. The only person he cared about right now, was you, entirely you, and as he curled his middle finger inside of you, your eyes closed once more, letting the sensation take over you as he touched a place you never felt before, you never thought that could be achieved.

“Oh, god–” You moaned out, and Eddie groaned against your shoulder, his pace increasing slightly as he felt your warm walls engulfing him, sucking him in, yearning for more, so he complied once again, and got his ring finger inside as well.

Your belly was on fire as you felt the sudden stretch, and you couldn’t help it, you really couldn’t, you wanted more and more, so you met the thrusting of his fingers with your hips, making them go even deeper inside of you, your moans now coming out of your mouth loud, and breathless.

“Fuck–” Eddie couldn’t help but curse at the feeling of you, arching your back against him, and he wondered if you could feel him. If you could feel the throbbing bulge that was on his jeans, rubbing against you. If you kept doing it, he was going to finish in his pants, he knew it, but he didn’t care. He really didn’t care.

His fingers curled upwards again, and now he wasn’t thrusting in and out any more, but actually pressing the palm of his hand against your clit, while his fingers were still inside, and his movements started going up and down. Your mouth fell open as he started hitting that part of you no one has ever touched before, while rubbing your clit, your eyes widening at the sensation and your nails dug into his clothed thigh.

He told you to not think of him, but his sweet scent was on your nostrils, his lips were on your skin, his breath was on your ear, but it didn’t stop you from feeling. It didn’t stop you from letting go either. In fact, knowing it was him, knowing that his fingers were doing things you never thought anyone could do to you, and knowing he was the one making you feel good, was making you desperate, and you were loving every second of it.

Your eyes started seeing stars, clouding your vision in white, and your stomach was tightening on itself as your legs trembled in anticipation of your incoming climax. He could feel it, your walls clenching on his fingers, driving him mad, absolutely insane. His pace quickened as he bit onto your neck softly, giving it a kiss afterwards as your moans filled the room. But you almost made him freeze in place because he had not expected to hear it, because he had told you to not think of him, yet–

“Eddie– Eddie, please–” You were moaning his name, begging him to help you with your release, begging him to keep going, and he couldn’t take it anymore, letting go of your hand, with his arm wrapped around you, taking your jaw in his hand, turning your head so he could kiss you, passionately, desperate for your moans to fill his mouth.

Your moans flew immediately into his throat, growing even louder, hiding the wet noises he was provoking with the movement of his fingers, kissing him, making your release want to explode even quicker than before, heightening the feeling.

Your breaths became short gasps as your belly finally exploded, your walls clenching around his fingers and your back arched completely into his hand. He didn’t let go of your face, holding you tightly so you wouldn’t move away, swallowing your moans and whimpers, a moan of his own mixing with yours at the feeling.

Your eyes had tears from the overwhelming sensation as he slowed his pace with his fingers, feeling you slowly unclench, helping you ride the last bit of your orgasm out, until you finally relaxed against him again. He pulled away from the kiss, but kept his face close to you as you rested your head against his shoulder, your nose in the crook of his neck.

Your breathing was heavy and your mind was a complete mess. You never felt like that in your life, in any sense or any way, but maybe you had an idea of why that was. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, your trembling legs finally falling down, splayed on the bed this time. He had let go of your jaw and wrapped his arm around you to keep you close to him, not caring any longer if you felt him.

He looked at the glistening of his fingers and clenched his eyes against the desire of tasting you, wiping them against his comforter. He was also breathing heavily, from all the emotions he felt in past minutes, or hour. He never felt that good pleasuring someone else, never in his life, always waiting for the other to reciprocate.

This time, he didn’t need to. He didn’t want you to. He just wanted you to feel good, by him, and him only. He opened his mouth to talk to you, but felt the soft breaths against his neck, and the raising and falling of your chest. You had fallen asleep on him.

He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face, his hand still wrapped around your frame as it guided itself up, cradling your head against his shoulder. He turned his head and he even surprised himself with his action, pressing a kiss at the top of your head.

But then, a frown came to his face. He had crossed the line. You two had crossed the line. He wondered what everything would be like after this, how you would be like after what just happened. Would you act like nothing has happened? His heart pained at that thought, his stomach turning as he thought, and thought, and when you mumbled his name against his skin, sleepily, he chuckled softly, shaking his head at himself.

There was no way he was going to act as if nothing happened.

Everything happened.

And he wanted more.

End of part 5

A/N: Yes, I did imagine Austin Butler for this. Sue me. I hope you all enjoyed this part! There's more to come, angst coming your way bby. I know it was long BUT PLEASE REMEMBER THAT A REBLOG KEEPS THE FIC ACTIVE

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sleekista · 5 months

Text

you don’t have to be perfect

barça fem x teen!reader, lucy bronze x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: also i would just like to say, if anyone has any feedback for my writing it’s greatly appreciated cuz i’m not the best writer ik that but i want to improve.

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It was apart of the contract I first signed with Barcelona that I continue my studies and finish school. Not ideal, but I get by with around 80% and sitting on a B for most my classes. What I didn’t factor in was the amount of stress I would have on top of the League and UWCL games when exams and assignments from 6 different classes were coming up. That’s hard on a 17 year old.

I felt myself start to drift away from everyone in the 2 weeks before mayhem. First it was denying to go out with the younger girls like Salma and Vicky, both of whom understood. Vicky being the same age as me and Salma only 2 years older than us. Then as expectations rose, classes became longer and filled extra information. All the time I wasn't on the pitch, I was studying. Or sleeping. (we dont talk about how even thats being cut down to maximum 5 hours a night).

Living with Lucy meant that she was bound to catch on to what was happening. It was inevitable. She took me under her wing when I first arrived along with some of the older girls and since I don’t speak Spanish natively, I was told to go with Lucy who was told to keep an eye on me. It’s nice, when you don’t want her to worry about how you’re ignoring everyone and have bags under your eyes whenever she sees you. She really does try her hardest to get me to do anything that’s not over analysing and over-studying the numerous topics, but no matter how much it pains me. I always turn her down.

After another night of studying until 2am, there’s an early morning training session and I know I’ve only gotten 4 hours of sleep. If I told the medical staff I’m sure they’d pale.

I’m aware that I probably look like death walking, but it doesn’t bother me. If I pass with above average grades, I’m happy and I know my actual parents will be too. I ignore the concerned looks that Irene and Alexia give Lucy, and get changed ready for the training session.

It’s gruelling, the lack of sleep from the past 2 weeks has finally started to catch up. When I least needed it to. Maybe I am working too hard. It’s too late for that though. I know I’m being watched by the captains, acting for a little bit longer won’t do much harm. Can it?

When the third water break rolls around, I sit on the floor and flop onto my back, closing my eyes. Too tired in the moment to do anything other than breathe. The sunshine above me dulls as Lucy and Alexia stare down at me. When I open my eyes. My captain has a raised brow, while my roommate has her arms crossed.

“Y/N, get up please. Now.” It’s Lucy who speaks first. I don’t give in. What’s their problem?

“No. I am fine where I am thank you very much.” I bite back. Lucy looks like she’s trying to hold herself together and Alexia looks furious. Unconsciously, I sink into myself hoping the ground could swallow me up.

“Nena, we won’t ask again.” The spaniard says, her voice low as she sticks out her hand.

I reluctantly take it, pulling myself up and staring at the two in front of me.

“Come.” Alexia says blankly, leaving no room for argument before walking toward the main building. I sigh, doing as she says or I know I won’t hear the end of it. Lucy trails just behind me, her jaw set and making sure I don’t run away.

When inside I’m placed on a couch, wishing and praying to any extra-terrestrial being that I can leave this confrontation. What is it even about? Why am I here? I’ve done nothing wrong.

“So, we noticed you’ve been pushing people out. You also look dead.” Classic Alexia, straight to the point.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I look away.

“Really? Because when I go to bed, which is around midnight and sometimes 1 if I’m doing other work. Your light is always on. You better fess up now before we make you do extra laps, and clear all the equipment from training.” It’s Lucy this time, starring daggers into me. Still, I don’t let up.

“Maybe I left the light on.” I shrug. “And why do we have to do this right now? I have 2 exams tomorrow. So, if I may. Let’s finish training so I can get to study and do other things.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about Y/N. You’re deflecting absolutely everything we say. You’re not taking the information in. I get you’re stressed but that doesn’t mean you isolate yourself.” She pauses, sighing deeply. “We are going home right now. You will not touch your school work, this has gone on for long enough. I know Alexia agrees with me.”

“Before you argue, just think. Is this really the best way I could’ve prepared? Yes nail in, do the study for good results. But also remember to utilise the support system you have, the team, the coaches, take a break.” By the end of the rant I feel tears well in my eyes. I feel someone hug me and I can tell who it is by the obscurely large hands.

“Nena, go home with Lucy. Get some rest, and not only will you feel better but it gives your brain a break. When the week is over we can talk more but for now go.” The Catalan smiles warmly. I nod my head saying thanks before walking with Lucy to the car.

“Do you feel alright? You do look very pale.” She places her hands against my face and frowns. “No temperature. I’ll get some food into you and we’ll have a rest day. Just us.” I nod slowly staring out of the window as my mind races.

When we get to the apartment, no conversation is made and I immediately go and take a shower. It’s there that I cry and let all my frustrations out, the stress finally taking its toll on my mind.

When I’m dressed and ready I walk out to the smell of pancakes and Lucy sitting on the couch with Narla next to her. She hears me and turns her head around, eyebrows furrowing at the state I’m in.

She pats the open spot next to her which isn’t taken by the Westie and hands me a plate, which I accept gratefully.

It’s a comfortable silence, but I know she’s waiting for me to say anything. And this time, I do.

“I’m sorry Luce.” My voice is quiet and more high pitched compared to what it normally sounds like.

She smiles lightly.

“Hey, these things happen. You’re smart, just as Alexia said give your mind a rest and you’ll do better. Myself, Keira, the rest of the team only want the best for you and your well-being. Let’s not talk about this now, take it step by step. You’ll be ok.” I nod wiping freshly formed tears as she pulls me into a big hug, giving the rest of her pancake to Narla who eats it happily.

- - - - -

And ok it would be. I end up playing Fifa with Lucy the rest of the day before eventually falling asleep against her. As for the exams, I pass by with good grades and after everything’s done the team takes me out to a restaurant to celebrate. As much as I deny it, this team is the most important thing to me. I love and adore them all so much.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #alexia putellas

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carmenized-onions · 23 days

Text

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life— Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “Let’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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no-droids · 1 year

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long). As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession. You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets. The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it. The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to. You don’t even really feel like a person right now. The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life. It feels sick. Wrong in your bones. Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop. Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops. Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago. Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception. What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all. You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now. No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams. No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move. The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again. It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence. Silence. You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement. You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are. You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder. You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something. Reality, maybe. A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows. Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying? They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat. Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy. It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be. Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately. It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances. Oshua Ryler. Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened. A stormtrooper? His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense. What is he doing here? Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them. They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers. “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.” You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done. You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet. You hate looking at his face. It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust. His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat. He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby. You know what needs to be done. Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over. It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.” You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears. “They hold no power anymore. Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!” The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green. “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…” He stares wide eyed at you and gulps. “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now. “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?” You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side. “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?” The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!” You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him. Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about. “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!” He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight. “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty! They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling. You could still kill him. You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit. “Who put the bounty out on you?” You ask sharply. It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!” Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it. You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask. Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something. Din was cut off before he finished. Help? Know what to do? You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by. The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice. The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry. “How many of you are there?”

“At the base? Around three hundred,” he immediately spills. “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours. There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,” You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker. “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground. “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of. In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence. That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector. If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon. And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel. “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…” He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands. “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally? Sure. Realistically? You don’t say anything in response. Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do. The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it. They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip. Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you. Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease. It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression. Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood. Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color. Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?” You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder. Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again. “I need as much information as possible about the base.” You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm. Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard. It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest. While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking. Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now. Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission. Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides. What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors. Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger. Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next. His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears. When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much. He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread. If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces. He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind. Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers. Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base. He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man. If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go. With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get. He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat. Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range. Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind. He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard. Not far from here, three minutes or less. The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers. It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers. “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask. Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible. Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed. The turrets, then. “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel. “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport. TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?” You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got. You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here. Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here. The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here. Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not. He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul. If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator. “Mando?” You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway. Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it. That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to. Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction. Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose. Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily. It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?” Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls. “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit. “You cover your face like one. You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.” Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now. “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he? He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan. All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge. You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood. This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby. In a sense, it still feels that way. The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family. The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch. He’d know, you tell yourself. If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow. Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore. The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response. In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet. These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back. Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms. The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes. Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?” Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter. The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh. “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add. “How were you able to find us?”

Silence. The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now. He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red. Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality. The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead. Useless, then. Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor. Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention. “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon. The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite. It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened. But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it. The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what? This Mandalorian?” The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms. “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.” The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head. “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees. “He must want the beskar. I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive. He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!” A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed. There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury. It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues. “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth. He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize. Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible. You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety. Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually. It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive. Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk. They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost. You’re both long gone by now. They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest. Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response. His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it. How the fuck did he know? He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile. Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods. “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides. Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man. The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul. His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun. He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?” The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember. He’s panicked before. He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time. This is different. This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection. There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now. The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat. You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it. Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you. Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out. His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision. For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground. There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about. Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed. It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground. Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him. Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up. Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?” You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on. Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them. If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways. The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge. Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!” You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull. You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door. “Now! We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up. Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel. Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears. The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping. You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense. Deadly tense. Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once. One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life. It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it. All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking. You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before. Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear. Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship. But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap. Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared. They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is. You can’t seem to breathe like he is. It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand. Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh. A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now. Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing. You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you. When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain. You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment. You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through. You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now. However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest. Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you. His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time. It’s… cold. A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin. Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood. You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word. You can’t find a single word to say. The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones. It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet. There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden. Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement. He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip. It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features. His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to. You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there. He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor. You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves. Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly. Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself. “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly. Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t. Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult. You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive. There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment. One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty. There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t. “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it. Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones. You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands. He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from. It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you. The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood. Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face. The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground. It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet. Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back. Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand. It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang. You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground. The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead. So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state. He doesn’t move. His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last. If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else. Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying. You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him. You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor. Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes. Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done. Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown. Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain. The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert. You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy. If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him. It was… isolating. Lonely by yourself. The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp. Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner. Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath. One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet. You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What? At least what? Comfort you? Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions? What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him? You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically. He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you. You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do. If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself. At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment. Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul. Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover. You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on. You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again. You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand. After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone. After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in. The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings. It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent. You don’t feel anything as you do it. You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm. Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster. The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything. They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower. Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy. Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent. When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls. Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today. You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep. You don’t even try, it’s pointless. The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself. You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking. You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago. You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong… They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation. You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point. In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this. You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure. How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices? Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t. You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him. You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance. You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course. Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been. Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you. A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone. Multiple people, this time. He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done. The end result won’t change. You own this now. You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice. He wouldn’t argue with you. He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them. It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount. You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned. You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive. You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him. If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it. Focus on them both, alive and well together. Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness. It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself. Hours, maybe. Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are. You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways. After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair. He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet. “Don’t say anything. Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You did save him. You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent. “I tried. Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself. I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul. Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you. It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up. “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat. They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses. “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out. The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body. “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself. The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking. You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.” Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes. “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold. Again, everything turns numb. It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today. It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it. For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks. “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me. I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger. I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe. And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II. Do you know why I did that?” The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart. “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand. You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up. Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away. But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you. Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying. It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die. You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t. “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones. Especially the trained ones. Anything else was meant to be your last resort. Not your choice. Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself. The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him. Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried. You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen. “I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you. He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words. “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster. Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care. “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.” It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless. Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against. It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean. Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.” The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child. Never. You’ll die before that happens. “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that. Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing. Not even you.”

Din stares at you. His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant. It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become. You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both. He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet. It happened. What’s done is done, you can’t change the past. He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so. This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child. You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them. Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers. It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak. Broken. “You wore mine once before, and it was…” He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away. “It wasn’t real. It didn’t fit. It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out. I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?” You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad. You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but… Not a Mandalorian, he’d said. Of course not. Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.” Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again. “It was you covered in blood. It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger. You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship. And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too. You…” He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice. “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you. “You don’t fly into war zones. You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me. You said you tried to be brave… like me.” His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand. “I’ll never ask you to be brave. I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight. They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time. Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again. It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside. You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?” He murmurs to you. You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?” You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory. “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that. Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain. You’ll never be able to change it, though. This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else. Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come. You need to tell him. You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?” You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor. “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat. “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.” He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time. He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine. You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before. It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms. His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing. “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today. All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty. You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now. If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer. Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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answer2jeff · 8 months

Text

ready for another lie?

// carmen berzatto x reader

song: Diet Mountain Dew.

pairings: nyc chef!carmen x journalist!reader

mdni!! i'm not responsible for your media consumption.

warnings: smutty smut, VERY DETAILED, fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), porn with plot, drinking, cursing, kinda subby carmy, praise kink, alludes to piv but it doesn't happen, complete and utter filth, i'm giving the people what they want don't look at me!!!

essentially a prequel, 1 year before the start of season 1 of The Bear.

"Fuck youuuuu! It's Friday, loosen up!" A groggy voice yelled from across the bar, cursing you for declining another drink.

You watched your friends flirt with the bartender over the course of 2 rounds of shots; causing harmless fuckery with the several guys who tried flattering them. You were actually bored for once. It made you sick.

You waited for something, anything else to impress you. You tried convincing yourself you didn't have to leave, that your friends wanted you here, and that nights like these were "good for your soul," but there seemed to be no hope.

"Just two vodka tonics. Oh, and a white Negroni. Uh, yes— yes, thank you." You caught a blonde curl from the stool next to you in the corner of your peripheral vision, and you dared to turn your head. You were met by the sight of an oddly familiar guy—and then it hit you like a semi truck.

The man you wrote your final thesis on "the senses creating art," about. Food & Wines best new chef, as of late.

You'd spent an entire year and a half traveling the world (after finally making a name for yourself as a journalist, and snagging a place in Food & Wines top writers) and interviewing the faces of all forms of modern art, representing one of each of the 5 senses.

Casey French, a fragrance designer as the face of "smell." Christopher Knowles, a fashion designer who specialized in optical wear as the face of "sight."

The list went on, until it ended at Carmen Berzatto, on "taste," just 6 months ago. It was September now, and you almost forgot about the 2 and a half hours you took from your day to sit down and talk to him in that studio. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt the pores in your palms release a nervous sweat.

You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were really seeing him— out of all the other Friday nights, when he could've visited all the other bars. But he chose this Friday, at this bar, next to you. You needed to say something.

"I'll take a Negroni too, actually. And you can just close out my tab for tonight." You handed the bartender your card after you anxiously fished it out of your wallet, trying to seem completely oblivious to Carmen's stare. Carmen clenched his teeth, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he kept his gaze focused on you.

"Holy shit! Is that—" A slightly younger man nearly yelped while he inappropriately pointed at you, quickly being shut down by his peer, and being told to "shut the fuck up," but Carmen stayed silent. He was dumbfounded at the sight of you.

"Uh, hi. Funny seeing you here," you croaked, swallowing hard when you realized how much of a horrible excuse of a "hello," that was. Carmen didn't seem to mind, dragging his head out of the clouds and smiling back at you as he received his glass.

"Oh my god, yeah. Wow, I— it's good to see you."

Carmen glanced down at your drink, watching you trace your fingertip around the rim of the short glass. He gazed at your fresh manicure, the beautifully layered rings on your fingers, the diamonds on your wrists, the black dress with a slit that exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh. Carmen always thought you looked nice, only being used to your blazers and gorgeous vintage pants that he was a little jealous of, but this was different.

And as if you weren't already anxious enough, Carmen's "friends" immediately arose from their stools and made their way to an empty table, leaving the two of you alone again. Just looking at him and his clean suit and tie made you nervous, especially with the ink on his hands still visible.

"Good to see you too, Carmen," you smiled, cheeks aching as you tried desperately to hide your excitement. Admittedly, you admired him. That wasn't new. But that feeling in your stomach, that aching, yearning feeling was.

"I don't usually do these things," Carmen mumbled, taking a sip from his glass and licking his lips.

"Me neither. It's kinda— I don't know, icky."

You knew Carmen avoided big gatherings like this, but they were usually tolerable thanks to people who "knew him" enough to let him hang around their groups in silence while they practically screamed at each other. But his free time just never seemed to align with anyone else worth talking to... until tonight.

"Icky. Couldn't have worded it better," Carmen tried not to laugh at your expense, keeping his tongue between his teeth as both of you fought back a smile.

"You get it! God, anyway—how've you been?" You inched closer to him, resting your chin in your palm as your elbows were propped up on the counter. You made sure to keep your stare on him and only him, glancing from his nose, to his lips, and back into his eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was too late to stop now.

Carmen paused, his mouth gaping open slightly as he thought of what he could possibly say to convey that he could be doing better, without completely ruining the mood. He sucked his teeth as he took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the floor until he finally looked at you again.

"Alright, I guess. Managing. How're you?"

"Managing. But really though. Like, has anything changed?"

Carmen thought about your question, realizing how much he seemed to relax tonight—while simultaneously being the most nervous he'd ever been outside of work in the last year. Was it being out and public after a long week? Was it the fact that he still felt so stupid for not getting your actual number, and instead only having access to your business email which was provided by your agent? Was it the smell of your perfume? Was it just you?

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess some things have changed."

He couldn't help but awe at the way you did your hair and your makeup that night, appreciating the tiny details your jewelry and purse of choice added to the look. He hardly ever thought twice about the attractive women he'd run into; making small talk and watching them get bored with his interests.

But now you were here; his fantasies, his desires were here, right next to him; wearing a dress that flattered your cleavage and cinched you at the waist, black heels that tapped against the footrest of the barstool. It made his head foggy, and he couldn't even wrap his head around the encounter.

After finishing your Negroni's over the course of 3 separate conversations that left you with a cramp in your side and your cheeks hurting from smiling—basically hitting it off like you were actual friends, you decided to pull the classic...

"You wanna get out of here?"

Two successful, somewhat well known adults in their lines of work were allowed to be human, right? They were allowed to share deep belly laughs with someone they didn't originally plan to see outside of a work setting, right?

Wrong. It was unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted: everything you promised you'd never be around him.

Carmen knew this.

But he was eye-fucking you in that goddamn interview. His tattooed hands rubbing against his thighs as he sat in front of you in the white light of that studio, his gentle voice contradicting his large, almost intimidating arms—it was all you could think about when you wrote your thesis. And now you were gonna be alone with him.

And despite his worries, despite the nervous sweat beading on his forehead, despite his growing anticipation when he admired your figure like a horny teenager, Carmen agreed. The smirk on your face and your manicured nails in between your pearly white teeth was convincing enough. He knew it was risky, given the fact that you still wrote for Food & Wine every couple of months: being more than capable of ruining his career with one wrong, but so right move.

"Yeah, actually."

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Fuck it.

Carmen closed his tab, gently helping you down from the barstool by your hand. You held your purse close to you while waving a shy goodbye to your friends, who were drunkenly squealing in excitement for you. Carmen's peers seemed to be out of sight; therefore, out of mind. You felt your cheeks go hot, every part of your body tingling. Neither of you knew where you were going. Just not here, and not with everyone else.

He couldn't even think about the fact that he would be back in the glowing white light of the kitchen that following Monday, and you completely forgot about the paper you had to start by Sunday night. And it was way too late to care about any of that now.

You decided your apartment was best.

"Fuck.." Carmen grunted under his breath, his eyes hooded while he felt his pants tighten against his throbbing length. He spread his legs wider as you palmed him, trying to ease some of his tension. You hovered over him as he lied down, sprawled out on your leather couch. His hands were clawing at anything he could reach; your hair, your thighs, the straps of your dress until he pulled it down to your hips, and finally the clasp of your bra.

His bare chest heaved, red and covered in sweat. His dress shirt, tie, and jacket were somewhere in the mess of your apartment. He was honestly too desperate to care.

"You okay with me takin' this off?" Carmen whispered as he cupped your cheek, keeping his fingers prepared to unclip your bra with your permission. He admired every inch of your flushed face as he waited for answer.

"Mhm," you soothed him as your hand moved up and unbuttoned his pants the second your lips moved onto his. Saliva pooled in your mouths with every kiss, turning into a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. Carmen struggled, but eventually tossed your bra onto the living room floor, his mouth just centimeters away from yours as he exhaled heavy breaths.

You sat up straight, pulling Carmen up by his shoulders and smashing your lips back into his. He pulled sway to breathe, taking it upon himself to peel the rest of your dress off. His tattooed hands gently caressed your plush thighs, his calloused fingers sliding under the hem of your lace underwear. He practically worshiped you like this, planting open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

Carmen needed to hear you, feel you, taste you.

"I wanna taste you, if–if that's alright," he placed one last kiss of gratitude on collarbone before he looked up at you through lust-blown, half-lid eyes.

Your entire body began to heat up again, and Carmen's words went straight to your needy cunt. You could feel yourself dripping through your panties while you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment, nodding frantically.

"Please," you begged, a mixture of a moan and a silent cry escaping. Carmen's hands detached from your thighs, your hips writhing up from the loss of contact. Without another word, he nodded his head, letting his hands travel down your hips as he got down on his knees in front of you.

Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing from your pleading eyes and back down to your bottom half. He hesitated, choosing to plant one more line of kisses from your tits down to your navel before giving you one last look for permission. He put his hand between your inner thighs, asking you to spread further. You blinked slowly while he peeled your panties off of you, wondering if he would notice how wet you already were.

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Carmen licked his lips, admiring the sight of your puffy slit in hesitation. With your body sprawled out in front of him, your pretty face looking down at him...how could he not eat you out right on that leather couch?

"I've got you, baby," Carmen cooed, his eyes wide as he nearly drooled over the glossy puddle in your underwear. He gently placed your calves over his shoulders, his calloused hands scooping the underside of your thighs.

Carmens wet tongue licked a bold stripe from your hole up to your soaked clit, not a drop of your arousal going to waste. You grew impatient, the kitten licks he gave your sensitive bundle of nerves driving you mad.

"C'mon, Carmy, I—" You whined, pleading that he'd pick up the pace. Carmen decided not to hold back, giving your throbbing clit aggressive sucks that he'd later soothe with slow, flat-tongued licks.

You bit down on your hand while the other entangled in his hair to muffle the sinful noises you made. Carmen felt his stomach turn at the sound of his name falling from your gaping mouth.

Carmen took note of how much you loved his tongue diving into your weeping hole, earning whimpers and cries of "please," and "oh, fuck, Carmen." He groaned into your pussy when you caught a grip on his hair, placing his head even deeper between your thighs. He moved his hands from your thighs and up to your waist—forcing your jerky hips down on the couch. He wanted to make sure you didn't miss a single bit of pleasure.

"Can I.. uh, can I try something?" He stammered, picking his head up with his chin shiny with your liquids as his hand crept back down, prying between your folds. Carmen needed to keep every part of him busy so he wouldn't have to focus on the aching bulge, already leaking precum in his boxers. He felt his thighs clench as he fucking whimpered beneath you.

"S–sure.." You nodded frantically again, tossing your head back as Carmen carefully inserted a digit into your core. You whimpered in slight discomfort as he stretched you out, which he immediately reassured softly.

"Shhh... you're alright. Jus–just relax f'me, yeah?"

Carmen waited until you whined again; his fingers started at an agonizingly slow pace until he heard your moans getting a little too quiet for his liking. He picked his pace up, sliding another thick finger into your hole and ramming into your g-spot. He hesitated, afraid to hurt you—but you quickly dismissed his worries when you urged him that you needed more. Carmen aligned his tongue back with your pussy, sucking hard before comforting your desire with lapping at your clit.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, your grip in his hair tightening while your moans grew louder and louder. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear you through the thin walls of your apartment. You didn't even think about what this would look like the morning after—because none of it mattered. Not with Carmen's head between your thighs.

Carmen could tell you were close, prioritizing your pleasure before he could even register how badly he wanted to cum into his boxers. He couldn't help but buck his hips forward, begging for friction while every noise you made just inched him closer to his release... but he needed this to last.

"You close? Let me take care 'f you," he mumbled, breathing heavily against your pussy while he tried his best to stay still. It sent shockwaves through your body, and you tried desperately not to scream his name.

"So... so close.. Fuck, it's too much," your useless protest was cut short by a loud moan, muffled by the sweaty palm of your hand. Your heart pounded in your head as your walls clenched around Carmen's fingers. You weren't used to anything feeling this good in months.

"C'mon baby, you can handle it. You're alright. You're doing so good. Takin' my fingers so fuckin' good," Carmen's raspy voice comforted you. His tongue finally came back to relieve you, his fingers slowing down so as to not overstimulate you, as much as he wanted to.

"Carmy!" Your eyes screwed shut as your thighs shook. You chased your high, practically grinding into his face as his nose bumped your clit while his fingers remained at work.

—

"Jesus..." You panted, grunting in disappointment when you felt Carmen slide his fingers out of you. He licked them clean while your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to recollect yourself. Carmen planted a kiss on your temple the second he sat back up onto the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. You felt his erection against your crotch, his already sticky mess combining with your wetness yet again.

"You okay?" Carmen cupped your cheek, pushing any sweaty strands of hair out of your face. And just when he thought he couldn't have felt more proud of you, he melted into the feeling of your lips against his.

You didn't know if you'd ever see him again, you didn't know if this night would magically become niche hot gossip within your respective groups; all you knew was that you wanted him. His lust blown eyes on you, his hands gripping your waist as he bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you dumb, the sound of sex echoing through your apartment.

Maybe some other Friday night.

#AHHHH i'm screaming #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #i need him biblically #hope u guys like this it took way too long #nyc chef!carmen #he's such a cutie #i need him to eat me #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #the bear x reader

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justpoliteconversations · 2 months

Text

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 6)

Plans are being made. And Link is facing his demons as well as he can.

Still taking time to inch my way back to full speed. Things are getting better though and I can feel my fingers itching to write more and more. Still riding the joy of pure indulgence with a feel good favorite. I can never stop myself from rambling in this one.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Finally back in Hateno after several weeks of long, uncomfortable (sand infested. lizalfos infested) travel along the coast (doing your standard business. gathering what supplies you could for Link), and you were ready to just slip into bed for the rest of your life. Maybe even retire early. Ensure you never have to see another damned lizalfos for as long as you live (you won't, but the thought is there).

But it was simply not to be. You'd barely crossed the gates into Hateno proper and already you were planning (reluctantly) an even longer trip into territories you'd never (well. not never. but not for long) thought to venture to. And honestly, you weren't looking forward to it.

And by the look on Skim's and Adino's faces, neither were they.

Not even a day after returning to your home village you'd broken the news to your guards that you were planning a trip towards Goron territory. Though, if you were lucky and utilized your resources wisely, you might never even have to set foot in that brimstone hellscape of a volcano (you hoped).

You'd thought once (some years ago), that maybe it would be a place you should visit. The Gorons were known to be friendly to travelers. The paths were littered with unclaimed mineral and gemstone deposits. And the infrastructure for travel was there thanks to the thriving tourism industry in the area.

It'd seemed like a wonderful idea when you'd started planning such a venture in your early days of merchanting. Back when you were still riding high from making your first small fortune and were still relatively unaware of the world at large. Of its challenges. Of its dangers.

That was until you started gathering information on the hazards in the area, and your opinion of the region took an immediate and drastic turn.

The high death rates associated with heatstroke, dehydration and smoke inhalation were concerning enough. But learning that the volcano occasionally erupted (killing dozens, even hundreds of travelers when it did), and was infested with talus' (over 40 confirmed sightings. nearly 20 unconfirmed). It was enough to put you off.

Skims and Adino knew this. You'd made it a point to explain to them why you wouldn't be heading that direction ever (but apparently not ever, because here you were. planning). No matter how much money could be made harvesting minerals or trading with the locals.

Not the produce trade though, despite what one would think coming from a land known for its lava lakes and frequent wildfires.

The volcanic soil was actually an excellent source of fertilizer (which you wanted. in bulk. as much as you could shove in your mindslate). Making the region around the volcano one of the more prosperous lands for growing crops and herbs. Even when compared to the more central settlements of Hyrule, right on the bread-belt of the land (if you were willing to risk the guardians, that is).

It was a region a farmer (and merchant) could make a fortune, if they were lucky enough to hit brown gold. And If one was willing to take staggering losses everytime the volcano blew its top. And there would be losses. There always was when mother nature got involved with the lives of mortals.

No. You had been eager to get into the fish and cloth (and sand) trade. So close to the volcano, magma deposits were unusually close to the surface in the surrounding lands. And while this created the most beautiful hotspring (entire lakes worth) tourist attractions, it also limited the amount of life-sustaining (and fish-sustaining) water sources in the area. Which, in turn, limited the number of local fisheries and livestock flocks the land could sustain.

The constant presence of ash and volcanic runoff also poisoned much of the water sources in the immediate areas around the mountian. Further adding to the lack of available water sources for fish and livestock (and people too, for that matter. Hence, the sand. A natural filtering agent for locals in the area) to live off of.

So. Fish and cloth (and sand). Those had been your plan a couple years ago. Until the reality of the territory's dangers made you reconsider. And later, dismiss the idea all together.

Knowing this, of course Skims questioned your sudden interest in the northeastern part of Hyrule. A territory you had said yourself was not worth the risk of death and revenue loss to expand your business ventures into.

You had been honest with them, of course (you were always honest with your most trusted guardsmen. when confronted, at least). Though not necessarily forthcoming with the details. Which, frankly, was par for the course as far as your more private dealings were concerned.

"I'm looking to acquire localized goods for an important client." You offered in way of an explanation, letting the things you hadn't said speak volumes. And, of course, Skims merely nodded. Still looking doubtful, but willing to accept your reasoning as your own without contest.

That was another thing you liked about him, other then his fierce loyalty and care. Easy going at the best of times, accepting at the worst. You never had to worry too much about Skims poking holes in your reasonings or explanations. You just needed to pay him, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to your eccentricities.

Adino, on the other hand.

"It's a waste of damned time no matter how important this so-called client of yours is. Just use the stable system instead of draggin' us along to that Goddess forsaken hellhole." Adino snapped, irritable still so soon after the previous trip (the bite a lizalfos nearly took out of his rear near Highland Stable not having helped his already sour attitude). Narrowing his eyes at you with suspicion.

Which was fair, honestly. In any other situation, letting the stable system deliver your desired product would have been the most efficient (and cheapest) way for such a limited and precise order. What would take several months of travel for a merchant (yourself included), the system could get delivered several weeks earlier. Maybe the same amount of time, or slightly longer than originally calculated, if the weather turned unfavorable or a blood moon cluttered up previously clear roads with monsters.

Without knowledge of your mindslate or the connection you have with Link (the previously mentioned client), it does sound like a bullshit reason to undertake such a dangerous journey out of the blue. Especially when there are safer and more cost efficient methods to achieve the same results (sort of). But the fact of the matter is that the system would not be quick enough to deliver your order before Link begun his journey towards Death Mountain.

(And it would be soon. Already there were rumors of the Zora Domain's endless rains easing at the boarders.)

Tally up the timeables, and getting the merchandise yourself was the only feasible way to get ahold of what you needed when you needed it. Where the stable system would require a two way trip to acquire your goods, you needed only one way to get it yourself (and add the slate's instant delivery to Link, and you're set). It was the only way to guarantee you'd meet the rapidly approaching deadline.

Also, you didn't trust the stable system to be as discerning as yourself when choosing suitable product. While you didn't doubt they would put forth their best efforts, you acknowledged that a delivery guild probably had limited knowledge of advanced spell craft and their associated counterfeits.

You couldn't afford to make any mistakes when it was The Hero of Hyrule's life you were working to secure.

Only the very best would do for Link, after all. Even if you had to put in the footwork to ensure it.

You smiled tiredly at Adino, noting how his thin brows were pulled into a deep frow. How his eyes flickered over your road-weary face and sagging posture with veiled intent. Searching and prying and worried. Lips pulled down in displeasure.

He was worried for you. Keeping secrets (something you'd seldom done so openly before. something you'd rarely done, period). Taking seemingly unnecessary risks (something you'd never done at all before this little proposal). All behaviors that were definite red flags. All behaviors that were concerning. Especially coming from someone like you (who you'd become).

And you loved that about Adino. How quietly observant and caring he was when he cared enough to try. Even if he acted like a prickly little cactus most of the time.

"Trust me. I wish I could just let the stables handle this." You'd begun, meeting Adino's (and Skims) gazes as you continued. Sighing. "But this is something I have to do myself. It's important to me."

Skims nodded, having already accepted your reasonings regardless. And slowly, reluctantly, Adino nodded too. Still looking as surly as ever, but willing to back down quietly so long as you were in possession enough of your thoughts to acknowledge the strangeness of your current plans.

"Thank you." And you meant that. Even as the next words hurt your very soul. Perhaps even more than the damned sand (yeah right). "I'll pay you triple if you agree to accompany me as my bodyguards." Skims' and Adino's eyes lit up at that, and you could practically see the rupee signs swimming within them. The bastards.

And somehow Red was suddenly there as well, looking just as bright-eyed and eager as she nodded along with the boys.

Your brow twitched. And Red grinned. Far too many teeth caged within blood red lips.

You sighed.

'Damnit, Link. Why do you cost me so much money.'

---

Sitting on the edge of the Zora Capital's Central Reservoir, Link held the slate in his cold-numbed hands. Looking out over the misty landscape laid out far below, cushioning the shining zora city in its translucent shroud.

The divine beast calmed at his back, as was the spirit still trapped within its confines (patient. kind. understanding. even in the face of death and heartbreak).

His fingers tightened on the slate's smooth edges at the reminder. Knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip. The chilled ache of his bones a painful burn against his exposed flesh and skin.

His shoulders begun to shake. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, with his own pillow and his own blankets. He wanted to bathe in his shiny round bowl of a bath with his nice smelling soaps and hair cleansers.

He wanted to go home.

He was afraid to go home.

But no. That wasn't true. Not really. It wasn't that he was afraid to go home (to his home. to your home).

It was that he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had lost. Ashamed of how he had failed.

Seeing Mipha's face (and that was her name. Mipha. the zora woman he may have once loved. not some nameless face peering out of her tomb with sad, accepting eyes) had finally made him understand the weight he carried upon his shoulders now. The burden of his past failings.

And he didn't know how to reconcile these feelings. Of who he was, and the pain he'd left in the wake of his death.

And who he was now, and his inability to grieve these people who had once meant so much to him. And who, in some ways, still did. Even if he couldn't remember why he felt as such. Even as the guilt tore him apart at the seams.

Far below, in the dark waters of the Domain's endless web of rivers. The flashing white of paper slips beneath a rising current. The ink fading into the darkness of the depths.

---

AM,

Thank you for everything you've done for me. Without you, I don't know if I'd have the strength to continue on. Knowing so much has been lost because of my failure.

I'm afraid of what I'll find if I remember who I used to be. I don't think I can be the man so many remember.

I don't want to be him. He's dead. I'm not him anymore. I'm me.

Is it selfish of me to just want to be the man I am now?

I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you and everyone who ever believed in me. I'm sorry I don't want to remember how to be strong.

I hope one day you can forgive me.

-Link

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

I forgot the tags before sleeping! Sorry Babies, I know you already found it, but I'll still tag you regardless!

Tagging: @littlepanda7 @2000babies

#botw x reader #link x reader #botw link #isekai reader #link x you

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purriteen · 4 months

Text

Ad victor spolia, chapter three

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: this is where it gets really toxic, so be prepared please this is so OOC I’m ashamed

word count: 2,678

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Perhaps it was about image after all. Your brother had invited guests to what you had assumed was a private dinner, just the two of you. You recognized Strabo Plinth and his wife sitting at his right, but he’d saved you a seat next to him. Deep down you had hoped that their spending time together was just some phoney traumabond, after all Coryo’s classmate and fellow peacekeeper - their son - had been executed for treason when they were both serving together out in twelve, and the boy didn’t seem to have a lot of friends, at all. You knew why, of course. He was district. You still remembered the gossip surrounding him when you had first started middle school. He was in the same class as your brother, and the year after that they both went on to the Academy. Even kids your age were talking bad about him behind his back.

You gritted your teeth as you walked over to him, feigning a smile when he pulled out your chair and gestured for you to sit. You obliged. Only now did you get a good look at the people sitting around the table. You only recognized a handful, as some of the other high-up politicians working alongside your brother and an old classmate of his. Mrs Plinth gave you a warm smile, pointing towards a couple steaks neatly arranged on a platter not far from where you were sitting and saying something you couldn’t quite make out. You smiled and nodded, leaning over to grab the smallest piece you could find.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. It felt like he was testing you - first he neglected to tell you about whatever this was, and now he wanted to see how you’d react. If you’d finally learned to think quickly on your feet. If your presence could actually be useful in these events. Even the gown felt like a test - presumably to figure out if you’d look good on his arm. Like he was trying you on, rather than having you try the dress on.

All that dining etiquette Coriolanus had forced you to learn when you were barely ten years old still stuck with you. That was the first time you got a good glimpse of your father in him. His impatience, the complete lack of compassion, the way he smacked your wrists for getting something wrong. At that point Tigris had intervened, but Grandma’am had simply shrugged it off and told some anecdote starting with ‘back in my day’.

You refused to even acknowledge his presence. You hadn’t been prepared for this, you knew you were still too vulnerable. Maybe that’s why he did it; if you broke down or embarrassed him in front of other people again, he’d have all the more reason to isolate you and keep building off of the story of his mentally distraught little sister. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that.

You gloated in the fact that his guests seemed to take more of an interest in you than Coriolanus for a brief moment. An older woman you faintly recognised remarked on how much you’d grown since she last saw you. Another jokingly pointed out how you’d been the one to inherit your mother’s good looks. A pleasant laughter erupted from right next to you at this, but you could sense the tension in your brother’s voice.

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you replied, “Oh, but Coriolanus inherited one thing I didn’t, our father’s talent for scheming.” You meant it as a half-joke, but you could tell by the subtle tightening in his jaw that Coriolanus wasn’t pleased. Meanwhile it took the other guests a second to determine that it was okay to laugh.

It was laughable how shallow they all were, how they so loyally danced around on the minefield that was their president’s ego, all for just a glimpse of power.

By the time dessert was served you were deep in conversation with the man sitting on your left, feigning interest in his latest endeavours within finance as he tried to work his charms on you. You were surprised at first, but you supposed it made sense that an up and coming young weasel businessman would try and use you and your brother’s position to better his own standing.

You figured you could always use the excuse of common courtesy if Coriolanus decided to confront you about it afterwards. You’d never admit it, but you relished in the knowledge that you were getting on his nerves, and that you still managed to be subtle enough for him to not intervene. You reckoned that you were playing your cards well.

Until the guests started to leave one by one. Eventually you had to say goodbye to the young man who you’d learned was named Salus Bellthorn - judging by his last name he wasn’t anyone important, likely the son of one of your brother’s colleagues or similar - and one of your brother’s old classmates, who was surprisingly well-rounded.

Finally, it was just you, Coriolanus and the Plinths. You tried to remain polite, despite the distaste you felt for them for splitting up your family and humiliating Grandma’am. All you could think about was how she had died thinking her grandson had ditched her for a couple of greedy district folk. Soon enough he took notice of your suddenly uptight demeanour, making up some half-assed excuse about fatigue.

You didn’t like the thought of potentially allowing your reputation to become collateral damage, but you were pleased at the thought of forcing Coryo to clean up after you. He was always excellent at damage control. So it wasn’t surprising when he escorted the two of them to the front door to say goodbye, leaving you behind in the dining room with the remaining servants.

By the time he returned, all of that charm and pleasantry had melted right off of him. He marched right over to you, gripping your arm hard enough to bruise. You winced in pain, and he seemed to realise the two of you were still not alone in the room. He glared down at you as he tugged on your wrist, forcing you to stand up. He visibly cooled down, taking on his usual stoic expression, but you knew better than to think he was calm. “Helvius, clear the table and tell the kitchen staff they’re done for tonight.”

He didn’t even give his chief of staff the chance to reply before practically dragging you back towards the grand staircase, causing you to nearly trip on the fabric of your own dress as he rushed upstairs. Neither of you uttered a single word the entire way back to your room.

When you finally got there, he let go of his calm facade again, showing you the Coriolanus you’d grown to hate. He slammed the door behind you, each of your wrists in one of his pale hands as he held you in place. His eyes frantically searched your face for any sign of weakness, but you refused to allow him the pleasure of seeing you break again.

“Did you enjoy your dinner party, Coriolanus?” You finally inquired, after what felt like hours of glaring at each other in silence. Your voice was dripping with venom as you spoke, taunting him. You watched as anger flashed in his eyes, before he took a deep breath. You liked knowing that he needed to put effort into keeping his cool because of you, despite the fear you felt in this situation. It took you until now to realise how hard your heart was pounding, but you figured you had nothing left to lose.

Just when you thought he’d calmed down, he shoved you down onto the floor, catching you off guard. You grimaced as you crawled back and away from him, all the way until your back hit the side of your bed. He followed, crouching down in front of you and once again trapping you beneath him. He leaned closer, as close as possible with your knees protectively curled up to your chest.

“You find it funny, don’t you?” He spat as he grabbed your chin, pressed between his pointer and his thumb. “Do you enjoy ruining your own future, my darling sister?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone deceptively gentle. “Every time you try to cause a scene in front of me my patience wears thinner, Hersilia. Right now? It is holding on by a thread.” You swallowed hard, struggling to keep up the stone cold, unbothered look on your face.

“Is this the future you want for yourself? You’re here for your own good, but don’t forget. I don’t need a reason to punish you.” He sounded harsher this time. Less filtered. “Even the districts think you’re sick, isn’t that amusing? No matter how much they despise me for simply keeping them in check, they’re no better than your friends. Happy to turn on you on account of gossip and hearsay alone.” He dryly chuckled, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Do you understand the gravity of your predicament yet?” You shiver, the back of his knuckle gently tracing down the exposed skin of your neck, until he gets to the point where it meets your shoulder. His hand slowly, delicately coils around your neck. Your heart nearly stops, and you look up at him. His eyes immediately meet yours, relishing in the fear he can sense in your gaze. Eyeing you like a predator inspecting its next meal.

“Why don’t you just poison me, Coryo? You think I’m a threat, or at best a burden. So why do you not just make me go away? We both know you have the means to!” You whisper, but it comes out more as a hiss, and even then he can still hear the resentment in your voice. You stay like that for a couple of minutes, eyes boring into each other, quiet enough to hear a needle drop. His hands stay right where they are, holding you in place and only threatening to choke, enough to keep you on edge. Your cheeks are burning up, betraying your attempts to show him no weakness.

He finally sighs and gets back up on his feet. He doesn’t move though, gesturing for you to get up as well. “I do not hate you. I do not wish to see you dead. You on the other hand,” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “You don’t seem to feel the same way. You keep pushing me away, after everything I’ve done for you.” He reaches out his hand, and you reluctantly place your own in his and allow him to pull you back up.

“Tell me, dove. Do you even realise how much I’ve sacrificed for you?” He waits for a second as if expecting an answer to his clearly rhetorical question, before continuing. “When you were little, Grandma’am couldn’t even look at you. Not after what happened to our father, she didn’t want to get attached. And Tigris, she tried, but when you got sick, she started to act like you were already dead. I stole food for you, slept next to you by the fireplace for a week until you started to get better. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” He continued, a vulnerability, gentleness, in his voice that you couldn’t remember hearing from him ever before. It sickened you as much as it tugged on your heartstrings.

“Everything I’ve done I’ve done to protect you. You’re a direct target for my opponents, and likely even common men. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, dove,” He caresses your cheek, your head nearly spinning as you try and process all of this. “Ever since I returned almost five years ago now, you’ve been so distant, so cold. I was too busy trying to secure our finances to see that you were slipping away from me.” You could hear the trembling in his voice, see the bottled up desperation in his eyes.

“I just want to keep you safe, Silia. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Now he’s whispering directly into your ear, the hand previously wrapped around your neck now gently caressing your shoulder. “I won’t lose you like I did mom and dad, like I did Grandma’am. I regret so much that I didn’t try harder to be there for you, even when Tigris shut me out,” He shakily exhales, his words making you finally snap out of it.

Your hands press against his chest, firmly pushing him away. You’re awestruck by the dishevelled, vulnerable look on his face at first. “What, what do you mean, Tigris shut you out?” He runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Don’t you remember how cold she was after I returned? She didn’t even want me to be alone with you, you know. I figured she would’ve told you something, perhaps warned you to stay away from me. God, she was always envious, Silia, envious because she’ll never experience what we have, envious because she’s an only child. Can’t you see that?”

Your brows furrow, sitting down on the bed as you try to take a moment to think this through. But he immediately descends upon you again, crouching down once more and holding your bare, shaking hands in his as he attempts to make eye contact. “Don’t be like that, Hersilia. Don’t shut me out again. You know I’m the only one around here who truly cares about you. Why else would Tigris have abandoned you? Why else would your friends be so easy to bribe into leaving you? Why else,”

He pauses, gently grabbing your chin and tilting it to make you look him in the eye, “Would I keep you here, as close to me as possible, when I could’ve sent you off to a mental institution, tried to do away with you? You mean so much to me, Silia. I just want to keep you safe. You won’t ever have to worry about going hungry again, about being kicked out on the street, about being found out as a fraud and humiliated by your peers. You have to understand, I was so afraid that you would break, that I’d lose you too. I truly believed that the only way to keep you safe was this.” He just keeps going, overwhelming you with all these new revelations.

“Please. Coryo,” You meekly whisper out, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I need time to think, you’re, you’re confusing me so much and I don’t know what to feel,” You babble on, tears turning into sobs that wrack through your small frame. “You scare me, Coryo, your mood swings, this constant game of push and pull, it scares me,” You hiccup, and before you know it he’s got his arms wrapped around you, pressing your face into his chest as he strokes your hair, hushing you.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay, you’re gonna be just fine. Won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He kisses the top of your head, and you have no choice but to accept his shallow attempts at comforting you. You realise that he thinks that he’s got you now, that you believe him. You’re not sure if you do or if you’re still strong enough to resist him, but in this moment all you can do is fall apart over and over again in his arms, allowing yourself to forget for a moment why you only have him left to turn to in the first place.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus is overcome by a sick sense of satisfaction as you unravel right in front of him. He’s far past the point of feeling guilty now, no. He’s certain he can shape you into exactly what he wants in time, but he hasn’t forgotten how you tried to embarrass him tonight.

He’ll make sure you won’t forget it, too.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

#banner credit: @benkeibear #dead dove do not eat #minors dni #dead dove fic #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x you #named reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #thg fanfiction #eventual smut

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rae2velaris · 29 days

Text

Azriel's ongoing theme is to find...

PEACE. WITHIN AND AROUND HIM

To realize that he is:

Worthy of love

Loved by his family for WHO he is as a person

Not defined by his traumatic past and actions

Allowed to fight for who or what he wants

This male has been:

Locked up in a cell for ELEVEN years by his stepmother, only being let out an hour a day and an hour a WEEK to see his mother

Burned ruthlessly by his half brothers at the age of eight, resulting in burns on his hands that didn't fully heal, leaving scars (which he's STILL extremely self-conscious about after 500 years)

Surrounded by darkness and shadows for years without sunlight as a child

Forbidden to train and fly while he lived with his father, something that's taught to Illyarians as a BABY

Shipped off to an Illyarian camp when his father found out he was a shadowsinger

Mocked as a bastard child alongside Rhys and Cassian

Hated by the Illyarians for his immense power due to being a bastard child (Illyarians valued patricharcy more than anything)

Separated from his friends for seven years during the war. (Rhys' father was FEARFUL of the bat boys being together because of their power)

Assigned as the spymaster by Rhys' father and was forced to do all his dirty work (we don't know what ALL Rhys' father made Azriel do during the war, and he was a ruthless male)

Pinning over Mor for over 500 years, even finding out Cassian slept with her

Thinking he is only of value to his friends for his work as a spymaster

Almost killed twice (once when trying to save Elain from Hybern and second when he was pierced by an ash arrow)

Finally able to move on from Mor, finding solace and peace with Elain (who is interested in him as well) only to be ordered to stay away from her due to Lucien being her mate ( even though she doesn’t show interest in Lucien)

Azriel needs some all-around PEACE in his life.

What about a love interest?

The fandom seems to debate on this topic, but one thing for sure is that he doesn't need to be "challenged" by someone... Where do we even see THAT being anywhere in the books?

Here's what we are shown...

1. Where do we find him most at peace/relaxed?

With Elain

Even Feyre states that Elain would find PEACE and QUIET with Azriel... and liked the idea...

2. Who do we find Azriel's focus on?

Elain

3. Where do we find the IC being the most surprised by Azriels reactions/actions?

With Elain

4. Who does Azriel ALWAYS try to beat Feyre to greet/assist?

Elain

5. Who does Azriel always volunteer to help?

(Omg I hit my limit with photos 🤣)

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Elain

6. Who stills Azriel's razor-sharp thoughts?

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike."....

Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?"

His head went quiet.

Elain

7. Who was Azriel willing to give up his LIFE to save?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Elain

8. Who openly accepts Azriel's scars, one of his BIGGEST insecurities?

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks,

Elain

9. Who actually SEES him and notices his needs?

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” Silence. Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

Elain

10. Who is Azriel thinking about every night?

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make

Elain

11. Who does Azriel want to kiss and have a lovely pussy eating feast on?

Wrong -- it was so wrong.

He didn't care.

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

Elain

ELAIN IS THE ANSWER TO HIS PEACE...

TO HELPING HIM FIND PEACE WITHIN AND AROUND HIM.

#elain acotar #elain archeron #elriel #elain x azriel #azriel #elriel supremacy #azriel acotar #pro elriel #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acosf

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haet-sal · 1 year

Text

Tatsächlich Liebe (Love, Actually)//jun x fem!reader (smut included)

Tags: cute single dad!boss!jun with a crush, mini-wen involved, office romance, shower sex, public sex, sort of cheating bc you have a sort-of-boyfriend, pining i suppose?, jun with a crush, went a little ANGSTY, Bestie!minghao

You’re the wide-eyed, clueless-but-on-top secretary to Wen Junhui, and it all starts, with one new year’s kiss… well, new year’s fuck.

Mr. Wen likes you. It should have been obvious, whenever he seemed to forgive your inadequate work ethics and frequent unfailing mishaps, and how much he trusted you, no matter how many mistakes you made, how much he hated hearing about your life with your boyfriend… and what kind of boss goes shopping for their employee, privately, anyway?

Warnings: y/n is incredibly seductive and more dominant and a bit of a fuckgirl, anxious Jun, cheating, Guanhang from nct is here as your very mean and distant bf

W.c.: 11k

~~~~~

You might not be very good at your job. And you realize this when you spill Jun’s coffee for the fifth time since you started working (6 months now). That was 0.8 coffees per month.

Times 2, and 3: You forgot to cap the coffee all the way right, after opening it because you FORGOT to ask for the sugar and you had to open it, put a packetful in, stir and cap it again, and Jun spills it on his shirt on his first attempt to drink it. Your penalty: Jun offers a tight lipped smile and caps it himself. “That’ll be all, thanks, Y/n.”

Time 1: you didn’t lay the cup right on his desk. It only spilled maybe 4 drops. Yay. That’s a win, in the book of Y/n. Penalty: nothing.

Time 4, the worst of them all: YOU SPILLED IT ON THE DOCUMENTS HE HAD ON HIS DESK. You don’t even know how, but the full fucking cup spilled. Penalty: “I got it, thanks,” Jun said (thanks for what? He lost documents and three quarters of his coffee) “could you print these again?”

Time 5: this time the coffee didn’t even make it onto his desk, you trip and spill it on yourself. To be fair, you were carrying the lunch orders of the others in your office, so it was a precarious situation.

“I’ll go get a new one!” you called out, since Jun was watching from behind the foggy, half translucent glass door of his office, where he could definitely see you from the way he was angled, but you only saw a part of his dark oakwood table.

There would be a line at the cafe, it was lunch time. But you were determined to make yourself important and cut in line, no matter what it took. “I WORK FOR THE BOSS” would be one thing you could say.

As you head back for the elevator, Jun’s head peeks out of the aforementioned glass door. “y/n,” he called—you like that he never called you like he was demanding your presence, like a rude guest you were waiting on, but rather… softly. Jun just had a softness to him. “Hey, actually, forget the coffee, if it’s not here—can you go get one of those donuts with sprinkles on it?”

“Pink,” came a very boyish little voice from behind the door.

“Pink, with sprinkles, like Homer Simpson eats.”

You walk back to the office, and open it wider, so the little boy could finally appear to you. “Hey, mini-Mr. Wen. Would you like to walk there with me, so you can pick what you’d like?” Jun was very paranoid, but also a very at-ease parent. Meaning: he did let his son go places without him, with other guardians, but also had a terrible anxiety that left him imagining all the worst scenarios until the boy was back in front of his eyes. And yet, you still asked, because you knew Jun was busy. He couldn’t be watching the kid right now.

Hao—that was his name, ‘inspired’ by his father’s love for his best friend, although Jun would say he lost a bet and that’s all it was—nodded, but he wasn’t walking on his feet: he immediately extended both arms out for you to carry him. “Alright, buddy! Let’s go!”

Jun managed a half-absentminded, half-grateful smile at you, mouthing his thanks. And then the door closed.

“Donuts,” Hao says quietly.

“Yes, donuts! We’re getting donuts, getting donuts…” you sang as you walked towards the elevator.

Today Jun’s aforementioned best friend and trades partner was in the office with him, because he wanted to come see his little namesake. As Minghao talked business and life with Jun, he saw how relaxed Jun usually was, rather than be the ball of anxiety he turned into whenever his son was somewhere in public not holding onto his own hand.

“You actually trust that intern,” Minghao drew his conclusions.

“She’s permanently employed!” Jun says with a smile. “Do you want me to text her and tell her to bring you a coffee?”

“Where’s yours?”

“She…” There was no way to sugarcoat this in a way that Minghao would feel sympathetic towards you. “Kinda spilled it.”

“... You permanently employed a secretary who couldn’t even bring you coffee.” Seeing Jun’s shocked eyes (how dare you bring that up, Minghao! He was probably thinking), Minghao continued: “didn’t she cause that delay with that shipping company because of her other-and-frequent mishaps, and you had to ask them to deliver the papers all over again? Why would you keep her after that?”

“I don’t know,” Jun says, pondering on his systems himself, “I’ve been through a lot of short-term interns, but I just employed her permanently because, I don’t know, it’s actually became a chore sifting through new secretaries, and she just feels right.”

Minghao cocked an eyebrow. Pushed his glasses up to his forehead. “Feels… right…” Jun did not return any ripostes to the accusations Minghao’s raised eyebrows were throwing. “But I’ve never seen you trust anybody with little Hao this much.”

“Y/n’s a natural around Hao,” Jun’s praise of you came lightly, and he broke into a smile. “Hao loves her.”

“Jun… just because she’s good with your kid doesn’t mean she’s good at her job.”

“Give her a chance!” Jun says with a nudge of his elbows. “She gets my order just right—I swear, no one gets the sugar-to-coffee ratio as right as she does.”

“Maybe because she’s the one delivering it. You know drinks taste sweeter when you like the person serving them.”

Jun groaned. “Hao…” Suddenly red in the cheeks, Jun brought his hands to cover his face, feigning that he was yawning or scratching his cheek or something. But Minghao saw through everything.

“All I’m saying is, I wonder if she really is good at her job—”

The door opened, and you and the Mini-Wen peeked through, with the little boy holding two cups of coffee. “I got your orders!” you say. “Well, Hao got them! I’ll keep watching him, if you want?”

“But I wanna sit on papa’s chair–!”

You grabbed the little boy gently. “Papa’s in a serious talk with uncle Hao, do you think we can hang out at my desk? I have games!”

Minghao shot a look at Jun, as the two of you walked back out of the office. He reached for the cup of coffee with ‘Xu’ written on its side, handing Jun the other. “Anyway,” he says, “back to our ‘serious discussion—” He took a sip of his drink, and suddenly looked completely apprehensive, like he wanted to spit it out.

But under the light of Jun’s alarmed gaze, Minghao slowly swallowed it, and then placed it back on the desk. “This is… this is not my order.”

“She just can’t tell between everybody’s orders,” Jun offered. “She’s still learning!”

Minghao took another sip. “I think this is oatmilk… I can sort of get behind it.”

Today was Christmas, which was why Hao was at the office: he was going to be picked up by his mom to go to her parents’ house, where he would spend the holidays. Jun and the mom never really interacted, or so says everyone at the office–you had never met her. Jun preferred that the handing away of the kid be done through third parties, from babysitters who would text as soon as she had come to take him away, through secretaries, or even through the office receptionist. Whatever it took to not see her.

You’re not good at your job. You’re clumsy, distracted, inadequate, and most of the time you gossiped away, or at least listened to all the gossip instead of concentrating on your job. What you’ve heard about the matrimony of Jun and his ex was: there wasn’t even a wedding. They got pregnant, they became engaged, apparently the wife got cold feet before the wedding and just decided she didn’t want to be a mother and a wife forever. She asked that one of her flings take her away to somewhere exclusive before the ceremony—someone says it was to the swiss alps, someone says they holed up at an air bnb just out of town—and never even showed up for the wedding planning and the ceremony had to be canceled.

As the story goes… her family had been glad, thinking Jun wasn’t the right person to get settled with. Back then he was handling the up-and-coming company, but they didn’t have faith in his line of work—they did, however, want their little grandson, and the custody battle turned ugly, which added to why Jun didn’t want to see his ex or hear anything about them. Ultimately he got full custody, as the mother didn’t even really want Hao.

Whenever you saw the almost-Mrs. Wen, she was incredibly cool, hiding behind oversized sunglasses. You’d have an actual sense of respect for her, if only her mere presence didn’t make her own son’s face fall like someone had taken his sweets from him.

But today she had her hair in bunches, and she impatiently took the little boy into her arms, and thanked you. “Tell your boss pick-up time’s 5 p.m. on the thirty-first,” she told you. “Or sooner, that’s fine too.”

As she walked away, you were in awe of how much she seemed like Jun’s type: sexy, but cute, and cool. She knew how to dress, for sure. You wrote down the pick-up time: 6 p.m., did she say? And tried to go back to work. You should clear his schedule on New Year’s Eve, but in the office it was still a work day, although the general consensus had decided to have a party in the office, going til midnight. You didn’t know if Jun wanted to stay, since usually he spent holidays with his son.

You see someone in flashy colors sashaying towards your desk, and erect your head, expectant.

“Heyyyyy!” It’s Arin, from the reception. “Guess what?” she says, bringing out the box she was hiding behind her back. “Look! You have a good boss.”

As you took the present and the card—where it was simply written ‘Merry Christmas, Y/n’ and nothing more, thank God because if you knew just how many drafts Jun went through—you leaned over the desk and into Jun’s office, where you saw a blur of his silhouette.

You unwrapped it messily, with as much expertise as you always have on the job, and out comes three bottles of perfume. You press the communications button to Junhui’s office. “I got the presents!”

“That’s great, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Jun!”

Minghao, in Jun’s office, watched as Jun got flustered, blinking the shock away. “You… you never call me that,” is what you hear over the speaker.

“Damn. When did he shop for these?” You press the button again. “When did you shop for these, Mr. Wen?! I’m meant to be doing your shopping!”

“Uh, just back in November!” The red light of the device wasn’t alight anymore, which meant the conversation was over. (Jun turned to Minghao in the office. “I may have done this in September, and also had a whole personal-shopper ensemble help me.”)

“So,” Arin says, sitting on your desk now, “you got your boss giving you gifts! What about that boyfriend of yours?”

“Guanhang?” Your expression turned a little sour. “He’s got a big family, so we went shopping for like, the six of them back in November, but he never got one for me? I figured he didn’t want to buy anything for me in front of me, but—oh, bye, Mr. Xu—” Jun and Minghao had come out of the office, as Jun parted from his best friend— “but I never woke up to presents. I mean, it’s only Christmas. I guess I can wait until he remembers?”

Arin grimaced. “Uh-uh. Today’s the deadline.”

“On Valentine’s day he just ate me out each night for the entire month and said that was his present,” you say quietly.

Arin laughed. She made a joke about cunnilingus or something or the other, which brings you to howl with laughter.

“I mean, it is a good gift, if only he didn’t pick the shortest month of the year to do it!” You’re about to go on about more of Guanhang’s antics when—

Jun’s shadow loomed over Arin’s figure, and sensing his presence, she moved over.

“Get back to work, please,” he told her. “Especially you, Y/n, your… work…” he fumbled over his words, before settling with: “is inadequate. And careless. And messy. I… expect better.”

You pouted up at him. Jun looked away before it could affect him more than he liked. “Back to work, please,” he repeated, “And Arin, your job is at the desk, which is like, thirty feet away.” The glass door to his office half-slams, particularly loudly that it sounded like it would shatter.

“Must be in a bad mood,” Arin adjudged. With a sigh, she just left the remaining files and letters designated towards you and Jun at your desk. “Text me about the boyfriend things, alright?”

Feeling sort of shamed (you sucked at your job and you didn’t like being reminded of it), you silently go through the files, not even unpacking Jun’s perfumes out of their boxes. When Jun asks of Hao later, you just tell him he’ll be home on New Year’s Eve, omitting the part where he has to be picked up.

“Mei.” Jun pretended to multitask, going over his documents while on the phone, but in truth he was getting nothing done. What a shitty day to come into work. “Mei, please. Don’t do this to me. Please bring him back home, at least.”

“Jun, I’m not going to drive to your apartment, there’s traffic and I have an appointment with someone! I literally told your assistant the pick-up time—Pick. Up. I never said I’d bring him. Didn’t she tell you?” Jun felt like kicking himself, he looked out the blinds into the street, and yes, absolutely there is traffic. They’re closing up roads for the city’s new year’s party, fireworks inclusive. “How useless is that secretary?”

“Of course she told me!" He snaps defensively. "I’m just busy all of a sudden. Can’t your parents drive him?”

“Papa just had cornea surgery, Jun. Mama has to be with him at all times.”

Jun hits himself. “Fine, fine, can you leave Hao with your parents, then? Just go to your party—we’ll pick him up at home.”

“It’s not a party, it’s an appointment.” But Jun heard heels clinking, sighs, yelling to her parents, a car door opening. “Fine. I’ll hear from you on Easter or something, then.”

Jun immediately pressed the button to call your desk in, before the call even ended. Soon enough, you’re walking in, taller than he remembers you, but he distracts himself from looking at you (it wasn’t healthy for him to look at you, he gets heartburn). “Could you pick my son up?” he asked. “Take my car. After that I swear you can take the day off, just come back to bring my keys b—”

His eyes finally land on you, and there’s silver sequins peeking out from under the blazer. He leans over the table, trying to look at your footwear: heels that made you taller than Mingyu from sales. “Um… is that for the party?”

“I’m going clubbing!” you answered. “With my boyfriend.”

Jun looked away from you. The sequinned dress was low-necked, distractingly so. “Alright, well… Hao’s usual sitter will be home, so you can just ring the bell.”

“I know the code to your door, anyway,” you say. “See ya, Mr. Wen!”

The New Year’s party was starting, with the attending employees taking advantage of every resource in the office: speakers blaring music, the main lights dimmed and LED lights strewn across the walls so carelessly it looked like they were there by accident; everything was a total mess. There wasn’t a reason to stay there anymore if he wasn’t celebrating, but Jun couldn’t leave: he needed his car.

It’s almost ten when you come back, and as much as it was long-awaited, it even felt unreal that you’d come back.

“Y/n!” He didn’t realize how his anxiety had crept up on him, even when concerning you—he knew Hao was safe home, but you were his main concern. Sort of weird, that it’d be that way. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Bad news,” you say as you come into his office, basically screaming over the music, “I barely escaped when I came, but they’re blocking every street around here for the parade.”

Jun stood over his tiptoes to see the state of the roads: the parades were already setting in, and the roads were blocked everywhere. The only other option would be to wait it out, until it’s past midnight and everyone is back home in their beds.

He sighed. “I think I’ll have to stay until the end of the party.” He pulled out his phone, urgently texting the babysitter.

But Jun immediately turned into his usual anxious character, not being able to get home at his son’s bedtime. He paced around the party, sometimes paying attention to the music, although it was just grating for him at some point, and, not wanting to return home drunk, refused all booze and decided to chaperone the party.

He finds you at the hard liquor corner, during his many rounds around the office. You’re leaned back and sipping out of a full bottle. Jun hasn’t drunk in a while, because hangovers and being drunk in general made him unable to parent. He knows moderation looks different to everybody, but you weren’t it.

“... all I said was he spends a comically high amount of time with that girl from work! And he’s like, you’re always tailing after Jun, and I’m like, yeah, that’s my job? And then he says, I'm not his girlfriend, I just live with him, he can do whatever he wants.”

You take another mouthful out of the straight bottle. “What’d you say?” Arin edges you on.

“Told him that’s rich coming from the guy that was balls deep in my—”

Jun cringes with scrunched and avoidant eyes, as he comes over to take the bottle away from you. Setting it down on a desk behind him, he notices that the people around had started to clear out, not wanting a chaperoning boss to ruin the fun. They rushed to the windows and the balcony.

“I thought you were going clubbing on your night off?” he asks you, standing two feet planted in front of you. You were holding yourself really horribly, and ended up resting your head on his stomach without a thought in your head. If you had thought it through, maybe you wouldn't have done it.

“Fight,” you explained. “With the guy I live with.”

“I see…” Jun tenderly combed his fingers through your hair, but only used it to pull your head off his stomach. “Well, I guess office party’s just as fun, huh?”

You snorted as a reply.

“Last sixty seconds, guys!” someone yells. They’d opened the windows so the sounds of the parade in the street were full-blown blaring distantly, and you were about forty stories up in the air, the night breeze blowing with a vengeful cold.

You’re tired, your feet hurt and you just wanted to collapse into your bed. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you fall face-flat into his stomach, again. Your arms wrapped around him, as if you were imagining him as a body pillow.

You feel Jun still, and you almost think he’s just uncomfortable being so close to you, but then you… realize something.

You’re suddenly more awake than you were five seconds ago. You stand up, and there’s commotion—everyone’s crowding around the window, yelling the countdown as loud as their voices went. You look into Jun’s eyes. Sober, clean, worried.

“Do you think we can kiss, Mr. Wen?” you asked.

Jun stilled. Palms sweating, there was a moment where he swore his heart stopped, before he remembered how to breathe and regain all brain-control functions again. It might be what people call ‘skipping a beat’ meets ‘brain freeze’. “What?” he basically mumbled, unable to talk very loud, but you heard.

“We’re the only ones with no date,” you told him. “Everyone’s partnered up.” It was true, even people without dates had struck up deals for a new year’s kiss.

“It–it’s just not a good idea,” Jun stuttered.

“It’s a kiss for luck!” Every step you took towards him, Jun stepped back from you until his back hit a desk. Pouting, you add: “I want to have lots of luck next year.”

You must have had a lot of those schnapps and shots from the reception, Jun concludes, but too late: right after he takes the steps backwards, you had pulled him towards you by his tie. Hungry eyes, if he’d ever seen any. “Y/n,” he breathed out against your lips, which came close to him with every passing second, “we can’t.” You pull him in even closer, controlling him by the tie.

You do whatever the fuck you want when you’re drunk, Jun concludes. But it’s setting him into a full-blown panic. “Y–Y/n.”

The countdown starts, and you’re right—everyone’s gathered at the high-rise windows, looking at the parade under the office. No one’s looking back at you, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to tell who you were from the mere blue silhouettes of your bodies. At best, they’d just be able to see his white shirt. His entire body shrouded you.

Three!

You’re in every single part of Jun’s senses. He can smell you wearing the perfume he gave you, he can hear the low hum of your breath in his ears, he sees you, he sees the flimsy little dress with the spaghetti straps that keep dropping down to reveal more and more, he just…

Two!

He just has to taste you.

One!

He’s the one that takes the step to meet your lips, and now you’re kissing. You taste like soft cream and feel like good sleep. His tongue darts out, and you welcome it in your mouth.

Jun let out what he thinks is a sigh, but really was more of a moan, a sound that went unsuppressably past his throat and vibrated across your tongue. He thought you looked killer, the spaghetti straps of your dress would sometimes fall just a bit that he could see so much… flesh… from the side, but he won’t think about it, he won’t even look, he won’t be that pervert, the older guy that wants what he can’t have because you’re too shiny and spectacular and just the personification of a starry night, especially in this dress—and he can’t have you! He needed to get that through his head.

You had a boyfriend, you were literally about to go clubbing with him, you were taken, so what was he doing, what was he doing?

When he’s panting post-kiss, he doesn’t know if it’s the kissing making him breathless, or if it’s all his thoughts tiring him out.

“Wanna continue this?” you whispered to him, eyelashes hooding your expression. Jun doesn’t understand why you’d want to—yes, he wants to, but why do you—?

But he nods. He’s the one that grabs your hand, and walks over to his office, and you’re following him. Every time he told himself this was it and there’s no way you’d go further, you do. What the fuck.

The office is almost unrecognizable in the dark, with only the fireworks outside to light it up. You locked the door, and he realizes it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

You push him against the window, and for a second you looked over his shoulder at all the fireworks. He watches them reflect in your eyes, and the sight of you is just haunting.

And then you’re kissing him, his hands are on you again, this time peeling the spaghetti straps off, feeling your bare shoulders, just the feeling of your skin—he hadn’t been with anyone in a long, long time, too busy with his son or work, and to finally have this–with the person he’d been pining for so long…

He almost rips the dress off you, but restrains himself. Your lips feel soft and healing against his own, and then they’re on his neck. He doesn’t even stop you to tell you you can’t leave hickeys–it doesn’t even occur to him. His nose is just buried in your hair, as you trail kisses down his chest—when did you even undo the buttons?—and, when he messes with the straps of your dress again, it just drops to the floor at your feet.

He doesn’t even have the chance to take your form in, in just your strapless bra and panties. You’re rubbing him over his pants, and he’s hard, he wants it, yes, but he’s also dead sober and he couldn’t even stay drunk on you that long.

“Wait,” Jun says, holding up his hand, perhaps to keep some distance from you. “You’re drunk, we can’t go that far.”

With a lick of your lips, you’re undoing his belt and flinging it over your shoulder. When you can’t kiss him the way you wanted, you simply pull him by the tie so he’s on top of you, pinning you down on his desk. You want to kiss, you want his hands on you again, but he’s hesitant, only coming where you pull him.

“Y/n,” he gasped. “Y/n, please—this is a lawsuit.”

You giggled. “I’ll sign an NDA, if you want.”

Jun sighed, heavily breathing. “That’s not the problem.”

But he wants you, and if you want him now, there isn't a choice but to give in. Your naked legs wrap around his waist, and he just trails his hands down them, until they reach your heel-clad feet. It’s so hot, the way he’s allowed you to entrap him.

Jun is fervently kissing down your chest, your bra pulled down, as he enters you. He’s so hard, so bothered, and wet with precum. So hot it could sizzle. You throw your head back and let out a pornographic moan, but he cups his hand over your mouth, wordlessly reminding you that you were only a wall separated from a whole party of people.

Jun hadn’t been this way with anyone in a long time. There had been dates from time to time, but never with someone he actually truly liked. Trembling, his hips stutter, so does his lips, which are moaning your name. He tries to be as quiet and composed as he could, but he feels like he might let the loudest grunt, alerting everyone outside. He bites down on his lip.

He hadn’t been doing this in a while. This makes him impossibly sensitive, and he might release, even if it’s just too soon. You sense it in the stutter of his thrusts and immediately slip off him, and he’s glad, because he knows he can’t cum inside you, but also it was embarrassing to have to tell you. You kneel in front of him, open-mouthed, and he could spasm from the mere sight, before you take him in your hands.

Jun hisses sharply. “Do you see how it’s so white, you were so wet around me—” He interrupts himself with a sharp inhale.

But you’re going slowly, as if you were inexperienced with your tongue, or just wanted to drag the torture out for him. Jun’s hand grip at the table behind him.

“Please,” he moaned. “It hurts.” When he reaches out to touch you it’s fervent, hot. You’re the only thing in the world that could ease the pain and quench the thirst. His hands wrap around your hair, although to him it’s more like you hair had come alive and entangled themselves all over his digits. Your mouth feels so—fuck!

He’s cumming down your throat. Jun whimpered as the sensation of you never truly left him, you take care of him. Until the last of it spills onto the carpet. And he’s just watching you through his eyelashes, tired and giddy. He speaks your name.

You look up for a moment, before your gaze turns towards the door. Someone else was calling your name.

“It’s Arin,” you observe carefully. “You should count to like, three minutes before you come out, maybe more. I’ll go first, okay?”

He wondered if you’ve done these things before, as you strutted outside. The lights were back on outside in the hallway, and he shrouded himself in the shadows, feeling embarrassed but not ashamed.

When he exits the office later, locking the door behind him, there’s a man at your desk, figure defined by a dark puffer coat over a pastel hoodie. “Sorry I missed the kiss,�� he was saying.

“I got kissed already,” you told him, avoiding eye-contact.

Guanhang didn’t believe you one bit, especially when you couldn’t meet him in the eye. “Yeah?” he says. “Who was it?”

“Arin,” you say plainly. Guanhang laughs. He grabs your hand.

“Wanna go watch the parade? I’ll put you on my shoulders and everything.” He looked past you, and sees Jun, and offers a tight-lipped smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boss?”

“I don’t see why you’d need to, you’re just some guy I live with, right?”

You grabbed your handbag and strutted towards the elevator, but later Jun hears that Guanhang did put you on his shoulder to see the rest of the parade.

The second of January and business is back, you sit down at your desk after an uncomfortable subway ride and check a day’s worth of missed emails. When Jun comes to work, finally, you offer a smile, but don’t meet him in the eyes. He wasn’t looking at you, either.

“Good morning,” he basically grunted, clearing his throat. He knew it was impersonal, but he didn’t want to say your name, because whenever he spoke your name there was an embarrassing adoration in his voice.

“I’ll get you your coffee,” you told Jun.

You’re beating yourself up while waiting for the order, and you pull out your phone. These were words you couldn’t literally say to him, but on text you felt brave, hiding behind a screen. Not having to read his expressions.

You: hi, i just wanted to tell you…

It’s immediately read, although he doesn’t reply. He's waiting for you.

You: if you can just forget everything! It would be cool

You: what happened that night, I mean

You: I can’t be doing this, I have a boyfriend

Mr. Wen: we can do that.

Mr. Wen: i’m sorry, by the way

You: don’t be.

You: I liked it

Jun tries to forget.

A few days after New Year’s was Jun’s European business trip, and you were glad you wouldn’t have to see him after all. And yet, sitting at your desk two feet away from the office where it all happened made you feel weird. As all your drunk escapades make you feel.

He’d been gone since Monday, and was due back today, to land in the evening. But as you check in with him, you find out his flight’s been delayed.

“There’s engine issues,” he told you. “I don’t know, fingers crossed I make it in time before Hao’s bedtime.”

But an hour later he called you in a panic. “Y/n, fuck—what do I—I don’t even—” When you ask him to tell you, slowly, he tries to calm down. “The babysitter! I told them my flight’s delayed, and she can’t stay all night—I don’t think my plane will land until dawn. Now she’s mad I’m demanding too many hours, because she stayed all night on New Year’s, too…”

You cringed, thinking about New Year’s night.

“I don’t know what to do, can you go to my apartment? I already called Seungkwan, and then I tried Joshua, but—”

“Of course I’ll do it!” you interrupt. “You can’t call your friends, they’re busy men… I’ve got nothing going on, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

Jun sighed in relief. “You sure?”

You looked over at the make-shift dining room table in your apartment. Guanhang promised to be home for dinner, but he hadn’t come home at all. “Yeah,” you told him. “Just try to have a safe flight, okay?”

Hao’s crying, and the babysitter is panicking when you come into the apartment. You quickly explain the situation to her, and she’s soon excused, leaving you and the sobbing boy alone, but at least seeing you, who he associated with his dad, calmed him down a little.

“Your dad’s at the airport,” you explain to the little boy patiently. “You remember airports, right? You’ve been there with daddy?”

He pulls out a plane and asks if Jun is in a similar one, and you answer yes.

“But papa’s always here when I go to sleep,” Hao whined. “And I need someone to watch my back, so the monsters don’t creep up.”

“Do you want me to put you to sleep?” you asked. “Hey, why don’t we sleep in the master bedroom, huh? So you can surprise daddy when he’s home.”

Jun’s giant apartment actually had an office and three bedrooms, but the master bedroom was his, the other was Hao’s—with a little kid-sized bed—and he turned the third bedroom into a playroom, so guests were never expected. You decided once you put Hao to bed, you would go sleep on the couch in the living room, wake up and go home once Jun’s home, you get a day off, anyway.

Jun took a taxi back home. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours. He’d been microdosing on first-class flight champagne all night, and it only made him feel sleepy and unsharp. Plus, he’d been up for an entire day.

He’s stumbling into his apartment, not even taking his shoes off—if he sat down to do it, he’d fall asleep immediately—and only takes them off when he’s in his bedroom. He hears Hao’s little breaths and sniffles, and concludes he’s in his bed.

But when he turns to finally look, you’re there, too, lying on the blankets, not under them. You must have fallen asleep putting Hao to sleep…

Jun tucks you into bed, intending to keep you and Hao there and sleep in the living room, but he can’t deny the welcoming pliability of his bed, so he would just rest his head, on the familiar navy pillows, just a blink, just to shut his eyes…

When you wake up, it's because there’s something in your hand. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, to see that you were holding onto Jun’s hand, held over his sleeping son’s chest.

You flinch away, and with the rustle of the bedsheets, he’s awake.

You’d been sleeping, forehead to forehead and holding hands over the sleeping boy, like you were a family.

You murmur your apologies. He excuses you, and tells you you can keep sleeping for a bit, he’s going to take a shower anyway, he’ll make you and Hao breakfast and then you could leave.

You’re having this whole conversation still lying on the bed like a mom and dad, and he reached over, patting your head. Your hair’s messy, and still had clips in it, never having taken them off. He pets you as if you were something beloved—but you pulled away. Cleared your throat. “Um. You should go shower.”

He’s so tired he doesn’t even know what he’s doing, whole body running on autopilot until he wakes up watching the steam rise out of the showerhead. Jun lets the warm water rush all over his body, pitter-pattering over his closed eyelids and down his broad shoulder. He sighed. He’s travel-weary, and jetlagged, and everything sucked. And he was embarrassed, because of the way you had flinched away from his touch…

Suddenly he heard footsteps outside the bathroom, and despite the sounds of the water, he heard everything (damn you, expensive rich-people shower!).

“I was home until 10, and you’re the one that didn’t come home!” He realized you were screaming, and you were near the bathroom because you had to scream—it was the farthest from where Hao was sleeping, so a blindspot.

“Heng, I had work!”

“Don’t give me that work bullshit, how is there work at fucking midnight?!” Damn. He could hear it despite the call not being on speaker, and also through the sounds of the water. Guanhang could yell, for sure.

“There just was! I’m an assistant–I’m sorry, alright, I’m sorry! I tried to call you last night—”

“Stop fucking calling me, then, fucking leave me alone!” You went quiet, which made Guanhang snap: “why aren’t you saying anything?!”

Jun hears you groan. He tries to tune it out, until at one point he can’t hear anything anymore. It must be over. Hao must still be asleep, although he bets not for long. Jun weighs his options, what he could make for breakfast for the three of you. He lets the warmth of the shower and the prospect of good food lull him into a another open-eyed nap.

Your whereabouts in the house were unknown to him, until he sees your figure enter the bathroom, through steam-mist shrouded silhouettes. He doesn’t say anything, letting you get ready on your own for the day—but you open the door to the shower.

Jun basically jumps back, but sees that now you’re in your tank top, the one you wore under your sweater, and… panties. His eyes don’t linger that long there.

“I wanted to shower, too,” you told him. He doesn’t say anything, half in shock, still tired. But he does watch everything, the way you peeled the pieces of clothing off of you so slowly, and then, under his gaze, felt strange and so cover your breasts with your arms. You look like a pin-up girl, which makes his brain chemistry go woah. You join him under the water, looking as if you didn’t even realize he was there, focused on wetting all of your hair, with closed eyes concentrated on the feeling of the water.

Can he touch you? Jun decided not to bet on it, and leaned back, watching you, dazed. He didn’t even understand what was happening.

You pull him in by the back of his hair, making him lean down to kiss you. As soon as that awkward seal broke, Jun’s on your skin, kissing your naked chest, trying to cover more ground than the water does. But you need his lips on your own, stat, so you yank his head up with a sharp, painful pull of his hair. He winces, but finds he likes the pain—like your coffee, everything you give him is sweet.

“This time you can cum inside of me,” you say raspily against his ears, which makes him feral, turning you around and pressing you up against the glass walls of the shower. He lets out a low growl, reminiscent of his days as a bachelor, before his ex, before Hao. He felt like he was just dripping in that youth again, being inside of you.

It doesn’t occur to him how weird it was. Why would you not even let him pat you on the head, but kiss him naked in the shower? Of course, he came to a conclusive construct in the end: Guanhang. Every time your own boyfriend disappointed you, you came to him.

The next morning, right before he set out to drive to work, came the text:

(2) New messages from Y/N

Forget about yesterday, please

I feel really bad. We shouldn’t have.

Jun would wait. Until Guanhang makes you feel unneeded again, he would wait. He didn’t see it as taking advantage of your sadness—in fact, it was a sadness mutualism. He was there for you when you felt down, and he… Well, he was always sad. You made it worse when you left, but when you were around it felt like heaven.

Guanhang spends nights out, and you wanted to limit your meetings with Jun to just that, but sometimes, you’d take his car to his apartment, fuck, and then he’d drop you off, right before Guanhang comes home from work or whatever he does. You never get caught—Guanhang doesn’t expect you back so quickly. There were nights you spent completely at his apartment, where you’d talk more than you’d fuck, and also play house with Hao, like a little family, and Jun’s never had that, that he begins to actually fool himself. He knows it’s insane, of course, but sometimes between sleepover nights and making you breakfast, he wishes you were Hao’s mom. He thought he’d given up on that a long time ago, but you made him revisit what it feels like to be young and in love.

At the office, you act naturally. You never even show half a glimmer of interest in him, you do your job. No one catches on. Your acting was genuinely convincing, that he’d wonder if you even liked him at all, but once work is over and he’s driving you back, you’re all over him.

He knows, of course, that it all depended on Guanhang, agonizingly so—you only paid attention to Jun when Guanhang wasn’t paying attention to you. And sometimes Jun gave you presents here and there, shopping trips and premium subscriptions—and one time you wanted to give Guanhang a video game as a present, so you siphoned off Jun’s money for that. He knows it’s wrong, you’re stringing him along, but sometimes he knew no better. He chose to know no better.

“She’s just a user,” Minghao told Jun when he finally admitted to it. “If she only comes to you when her boyfriend has off-days, I’m sorry, she’s a user. Nothing more to it.”

Jun knew you didn’t love him, of course, but it’s hard to imagine you completely indifferent to him. You were nice when you’re together.

“Either way,” Minghao says, “It’s a dangerous game. What if she extorts you?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She has a boyfriend, what if he finds out and blackmails you?!”

Jun admitted to the possibility, but told Minghao not to worry. He was willing to go down for you, although he didn’t dare admit it to his friends.

But Jun let you in every time you knocked, until you became as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

“I’m taking Tuesday afternoon off,” Jun says as he lazily thrusts into you, “We’re trying to get Hao into one of those high-end nursery schools, next year.” He moved in you, and it’s tight and wet, but for you it just feels full, with no movement. You feel a little crazy.

If you weren’t trying so hard to cum, maybe you could have made a joke about how high-end nursery schools can be. But you just nod, peeking at him through scrunched eyes. “Uh-huh!” you squeaked. He’s moving again, and you throw your head back and moan.

“I think I’ll need you there,” Jun says. “I mean, I’ll need to look important and be hands-on, it’s nice to have an assistant there.”

You shiver around his cock, he’s moving but only minimally, and you need the full violent, bottom-out-and-thrusting-in action. You whine.

“Y/n? Are you getting this? I’ll meet you at the office, alright?”

You simply groan, pushing him back and trying to find… whatever was the pussy equivalent of ‘footing’. You try to gain leverage on the desk behind you and bounce, fucking yourself on his cock, and it’s still not enough.

Jun laughs. You are not getting it. You’re basically going feral from the withheld orgasm. Giving you what you wanted, he goes faster, and you nearly scream, gripping onto his white oxford in bunches, lewdly bouncing on his cock. “Want me to touch you?” he questioned, and you nod vehemently. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

There must be like 20 kids running around at this party. (“oh my god, triplets!” you whispered to Jun as you first stepped into the garden) Hao’s shy, and wants his father to carry him, preferably back into the car, but Jun refuses, making him walk. He doesn’t cry to protest, which is what you love so much about Hao. “Go play with Hoon,” Jun suggests, dropping to his knees to talk to his son. He pointed the familiar little face out. “Go on, make new friends!”

“He’s a bit like you,” you told Jun as Hao wandered off into the playpens.

Jun turned to you, curious. “How so?”

“He’s shy, but… he makes it work.” You’re back on your phone again, double-checking your boss’s schedule, checking all mail, confirming meeting times and topics. Jun waits for you on a bench until he couldn’t anymore.

He snatches the phone from you. “Work later,” he says. “I’m just like Hao, and I need you to be tailing me at all times so I can have a sense of security.”

“A false sense of security,” you say. “Wait, security from what?”

“The parents’ committee…”

So you’re the one that meets the fear-striking bunch of parents, rich trust fund kids breeding more trust fund kids, whose only purpose was to take care of their children. They might be problematically prideful and impossibly picky, but they made up for it by having an overly welcome demeanor. The triplets’ mother led the committee and also the waitlist to the nursery school, and as you pointed Hao out to her, she gushed over how cute the little guy was. Jun stands demurely behind you, not even accepting the compliment himself.

“He really is a sweet boy,” says the woman, “well it’s no wonder, when his parents are so cute!”

Jun looked at you, wanting to cut in, but he never speaks soon enough, and you’re the one that goes: “thank you!” with a grin. He doesn’t say anything anymore after that.

It’s winter, and when the party’s over the sun had set. Hao’s extra tired, from climbing up walls and running around with the other kids. When you look back at him, a few minutes after having strapped him into his little child seat, he’s out like a light. “He’s kaputt,” you informed Jun.

“Yeah?” He smiled. “Good… hey, I mean, when they thought you were his mom—”

“I hope you don’t mind!” you say. “I just… didn’t want to go through the whole I’m-actually-his-assitant and then they ask where the mom is and then the whole divorce story…”

“I’m actually grateful.” Jun’s lips are tightened but upturned in a little :] smile. “I… never like talking about his mom.” You nodded. After a few minutes of silence, he goes: “well, I mean, if they ask next time where his mom is, and you’re not there…”

“Of course I’ll be there!” you put a hand over his thigh, and squeeze. “Maybe you can keep saying that, I’m gonna be with you guys for a while, aren’t I?”

Jun’s the one that carries his son out of the car and into the apartment, and you follow him upstairs—he promised to make you dinner. As you get into the elevator, you text Guanhang you’ll be eating somewhere else, if he cares.

Guanhang: Where? Maybe I can join you

You: just somewhere with the girls from the office :) girls’ night?

You look up from your phone as little Hao wakes up, cheeks puffy against Jun’s shoulder. “Y/n,” he says sleepily.

“Hey, little guy. We’re home.”

“You’re home,” Hao says with a yawn, and maybe he just said it because he was half-asleep, but you stop in your tracks. You realize you’d been spending more time at your boss’s house than you do in Guanhang’s apartment.

You ran Hao a bath, and you and Jun bathed the little guy together, complete with bathbombs and bath toys. There’s sand from the garden everywhere in his scalp, which you patiently wash off.

“I want Y/n to be my mommy,” Hao says as you gently wet his hair, occasionally dunking him, which he’s patient to.

You let out a laugh, it was just awkward and you didn’t know what to say, how to parent.

You’re not the parent though, and Jun took the little boy into his arms, growing sterner. “Hey, you don’t say things like that, okay?”

“Why not?” the little boy pondered.

“Well, because she’s still young and she might not like—I mean, son, listen, motherhood—I mean, it’s just—you’re cute, don’t worry, you’re the cutest thing ever, but—you can’t just say that to everybody you like!”

“I don’t say it about everybody,” Hao says. “I just say it about y/n!”

You offer a tight-lipped smile, and Hao’s still not done: “I looove y/n. I like her more than mama. Mama’s mama, and Y/n is mommy!”

“I didn’t teach him that,” Jun says quietly. “I swear, I did not teach him that.”

Later when he sends you home, he’s still apologizing profusely. And then, he lights up with a smile. “It’s good he likes you, isn’t it?”

You shrugged. “I mean… yeah. I like that Hao likes me, it’s part of my job.”

Jun presented a little promise ring, a silver band encrusted with diamonds. Minghao sighs. “You cannot be…”

“It’s for Y/n!”

“I thought she wanted no strings attached?” probed Minghao.

Jun frowned, thinking deeply about it. “But…” he sounded as innocent as his own son as he said it, “we’ve come far enough that we can define our relationship. You don’t know what she told me.”

“What?”

“She said, she’ll be here with me and Hao. For a long time.”

“Jun,” Minghao says, sighing, “don’t… don’t do this to yourself or little Hao. Don’t play with someone that obviously doesn’t care about your feelings.”

“I don’t know, Minghao,” Jun sighed. “I think this might be it. I feel like she could… be in my life. Permanently.”

“She’s a user!” Minghao pointed out. “If she comes to you whenever her boyfriend lets her down, and takes advantage of you and your money because you’re needy with a kid, she’s a bad person.”

“She’s never asked for anything from me,” Jun says sadly. “I think you’re wrong.”

“She never denies your gifts, either.”

“Why would she refuse something I’ve already bought her?”

Minghao groans, head in his hands, his friend was not getting it—he’s just not getting it! “Listen,” he told Jun, “you are not asking someone that flaky for a real relationship. You won’t like what you get.”

“Why—”

“She’s still living with a guy!”

“You’re right,” Jun says. He sinks back down into his chair. “I’ll just ask her to move out, first.”

Minghao throws his hands up in the air and lets out the most strangled groan he’s ever made his entire life.

Jun can’t pop the question. It’s hard to just ask someone about their lovelife, even someone he considers to be as close as you. Of course he, with his small circle and busy life, thought you were close, and you knew everything about his life, but did you consider the same of him? He didn’t even know so much about you.

Plus, you never talk about your feelings. The only time you’d ever come close to that were the times where you talked about Guanhang, times when he eavesdropped, just to know what it’s like to be someone you loved, except it wasn’t him, and he could never imagine it being him.

So he thinks that’s where he should start: Guanhang. If you loved him, then you must hang onto him, and if he gets a straight answer about it then he’ll stop the pining. Plus, it would mean he has no chance.

He picked an evening where you were in your feelings. The sky’s a certain shade of blue, from all the citylights polluting the darkness, and it would never dim; you rolled down your side window and stared out, sometimes enjoying the velocity breeze but he just kept getting stuck in traffic, so the car was often still. “Y/n,” he says quietly, voice almost blending in with sounds of the city, “how’s Guanhang?”

“Oh, you mean the guy I live with?” you snort. You rolled your window up so you could hear him better. “He’s fine. Now that he’s taken up a second job we have less time to fight.”

“Do you love him?”

You gasp. “What?”

“Do you even believe in love?” Jun wondered. “I feel like you don’t really act that way.”

“I didn’t use to,” you answered honestly. You sounded so wise to him, he’d never heard you this way before. “But… one day, you know, Guanhang works at a studio, and I listened to one of the stuff he produced—there were like, 30 guys singing on a backtrack, but I knew immediately when his voice was in it. I could just recognize it.”

Jun’s heart clenched in his chest, and if he weren’t driving he’d double over. He hadn’t had his heart broken in so long… not since his broken engagement.

“And,” you say, “one night, Guanhang ‘borrowed’ his friend’s car and we went out of the city, to stargaze. We just had the radio to listen to, so we spent the entire ride driving past the suburbs screaming the lyrics to every song we knew. It was like a competition—and then, at one point, I stopped screaming. I just listened to him. I realized then that’s what love is? If that makes sense? Love is shutting up while you’re singing in the car because you want to hear their voice. And that’s the day I said it. ‘I love you.’ I’ve never said it to anybody before in my life.”

You looked over at Jun. “But now he’s just some guy I live with.”

Well, that wasn’t a straight answer. But he knew he could never ask you now. Guanhang was someone you’d always want to hang onto. With his ex, it had been black-and-white, she didn’t want him and he gave up. But Guanhang was always going to string you along, and he… knew he couldn’t compete. He’d never felt good enough for love, ever since his ex and the wedding debacle.

There’s a letter of resignation on his desk, a few days after that night. You had been growing cold towards him, nights where you slept over grew seldom and seldom until you just stopped. But you give him his coffee every day still, perfectly, even, without spillage, and it always tastes just as sweet, as sweet as only you could make it.

So it’s a shock to him as he read the letter, right in front of your eyes. “Why?” he demanded. He got so fired up he started speaking mandarin. “Wèishéme?!”

“I just…” you say, blinking tears away, “I just can’t do this anymore, and seeing you every day at work like we aren’t something is just...”

“Is it Guanhang?” he demanded.

“No,” you say. “No, I just… I just want positions I deserve. And I feel like I got here because… you liked me.”

“You’re here because I like the way you work,” Jun insisted. You don’t believe him. “No, I—I had this assistant that would color-code everything with custom stickers, but they were all pastel and I basically turned colorblind trying to read them, I had another guy assistant that kept asking questions and making me confirm everything myself, I had this other intern, right before you, that took pictures of me and Hao because he wanted to put it on his blog—Y/n, you’re great. I like that you don’t overcomplicate your systems, you sometimes spill things and trip and fall, but I don’t mind. It’s small flaws I never even saw—I didn’t hire you because of some… sexual ulterior motive. I like you. I like the way you work first, and then I just… fell for the rest of you.”

You looked conflicted, you watch him through your eyelashes. “I want to transfer,” you say, resolute but soft enough. “To Mr. Choi’s company—you know I’m more into that line of work, it’s what I studied. I just think a position there might be better.”

Jun tries to convince you to stay, but he was never a believer in his own self.

You leave, two months later, after treating him just like a stranger whose schedule was the only thing you knew about him.

Jun still has the promise ring, and it’s always somewhere in his pocket, although he hopes that one day he could just lose it, more or less accidentally, but the little velvet box always stayed somewhere in the pockets of his coats or trousers. He didn’t even know why it mattered to him, it’s not like you’d even touched it in your entire life. And yet… when he holds it in his hands, it feels to him like that sweet daydream that never became reality—he never got to touch it, but still, it’s so vivid.

Hao keeps asking why you’re not around, and Jun never knows how to answer. He explains the concept of resignation to the little boy, patiently, and Hao sort of begins to get it.

“So Y/n’s somewhere? In this city? And we just can’t see her?”

It’s supposed to be spring, but the wind still blows harsh and northern like the middle of winter, and it reminds him of you, because all the months you’d worked for him were so cold. He remembers you in your little trenchcoats and woolen things, trying to text with a smart glove on…

“Do you want to see her?” Jun asked Hao. “Maybe we just pay a little visit, for the last time?”

So him and his son are parked in front of the complex he always dropped you off, and he presses the bell for 3A, which you shared with Guanhang. When it buzzes in, Jun takes the little boy on his shoulders.

Guanhang’s waiting at the door, not knowing what he’s being visited for. “We just wanted to see Y/n,” Jun says, awkward because that was his rival he was talking to. “The little guy missed him, is it okay if he—”

“Y/n moved out,” Guanhang says plainly. “A month ago.”

But that was when you resigned. “Do you—know where?”

“That receptionist friend she had,” Guanhang says. “Moved in with her. I don’t fucking know. Don’t look at me like that, I tried to make her stay, too.” The door slams.

Jun calls the personnel office in his car with the engine on, as Hao swings his little legs on the seat. This was a revelation to him—you ended it with Guanhang, and even with him, and everything’s just so clear to Jun, now: you wanted things you deserved. You were starting over. You wanted to work for things yourself. He just wanted you back in his life, he wasn’t bad for you, he would prove it.

The phone comes through. “Hey! Good evening, it’s Jun—I just need to know where Choi Arin lives.”

“For something good, like a bonus, I hope,” replies the man working at the office.

Arin lives in another complex, closer to work this time. The apartment was on the third floor, and Jun climbed the stairs with Hao on his shoulders, once again, only for Arin to come out and tell him you didn’t live there anymore.

“It was just temporary,” she said. “She wanted a real place she could rent—I think Mr. Jo from security hooked her up with a free space in his flat.”

“Hey, Jun again… could you give me the address of Jo from security?”

He doesn’t know which floor you lived on, or even which side of the terrace. He tries door after door, and nice ladies here and there wanted to accompany him for the rest of the search. Then another man wants to see it through, too, and Jun entrusts that his son was grabbing the tail of his coat at all times, following him.

He’s gathered a bunch of people following him when he arrives at the new side of the terrance. He almost loses the motivation to go around asking a whole neighborhood if they knew you, when…

He could hear music, faintly coming from a ground-floor window. He followed it, knowing the melody well—you would hum it all the time, it was your favorite.

He knocks on the door it leads him to.

You come out with a bowed head, and you’re more beautiful than he remembers, although you looked even more tired. If you were living here but working at Seungcheol’s company, you must be waking up so early just to make it there at 9 a.m. Jun reaches out to touch you, as if he had been fooled and you’re just a mirage.

“Y/n!”

You extend your arms to the little boy, and he climbs up. Your laughter is light. “Hao! What are you guys—Jun? What is this?”

He doesn’t know how to start this. He fumbled around with the pockets of his paddington coat, and there were just too many pockets. After going through each of six pockets twice and coming up with just stray used tissues and car keys, he checks his pants, and there it was. He pulls out the little velvet box; a bunch of people gasp. You just mumble, “he wouldn’t.” But you don’t know if he would.

But there is a ring, although at closer inspection you notice it’s not for engagements. A simple promise ring, which you putt out to inspect, and ‘1.1. 00:00’ is engraved on the inside.

Your first kiss. You look up at him, and just when you’re about to speak, Mini-Wen wraps his arms around you. “Missed you, Y/n.”

“Y/n,” Jun starts, “I just—I—I wanted to ask you to be mine. But I was just—I was just afraid. I’ve had this phobia against relationships ever since Hao’s mom left me, and…” (the crowd ‘aww’ed) “I was afraid of getting close to someone again, if they might break my heart, and well, you did–you did, you left. But… I found out it doesn’t even matter. I’m happy to be loving you and getting my heart broken by you. I think you’ve got your fair share of broken hearts, too, but if you trust me—” you’re looking up at him with a brand new look in your eyes. He falters, splutters, as he always did when you look at him. “I can promise you I’ll always be here for you. I’ll keep your place for you, I’ll always protect you, I’ll—”

With Hao still in your arms, you step in and kiss Jun. For a second he forgets to close his eyes, and he just watches you, lips sinking into his. He knows exactly what he feels for you, except he’s just too scared to say what it is.

“Did my speech move you into kissing me?” He murmured against your lips.

“No, but there’s just too many people watching I felt the need to perform.”

Hao plants a kiss on your cheek, and suddenly you and Jun are kissing him back, on each cheek—Jun had imagined showing his son love with this, but it was only you that made it possible.

He brings you and Hao closer into him, warm and padded inside his coat.

“I think I was too preoccupied to tell you on New Year’s,” Jun says. “I hope you have a good year, Y/n.”

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diagnosedpsychosis · 1 year

Text

Broken Promises

Description: Failed promise after failed promise, the reader finally thinks that this time Aaron will be able to keep his promise...

Word Count: 3.1k

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Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit was an amazingly respected job, and you knew that better than anyone. You knew it meant your boyfriend Aaron would be away more than he was home, but he loved what he did and you loved seeing him get enjoyment out of it.

But as much as you tried to remain loving and understanding, his job also took its toll on you. If he wasn't home it was quiet and you were alone. Here and there you would help take care of his son, Jack, but Jessica, his aunty loved the kid so much because he reminded her of her departed sister that she was almost a full time carer for the boy.

Even though you were alone without Aaron, somehow you felt even more lonely when he was present. If he wasn't physically exhausted from a case, he was mentally exhausted, which meant days of walking on egg shells around him until he started acting like himself again. And then he'd be pulled back into work and flown half way across the country.

You had been together for years, but you'd only just started feeling the negative affects of his job in the last 6 months. Aaron knew something was up, you knew he knew. You also knew he was trying to fix things in his own way. Bring home flowers, leaves cases out of the house, wake you up with breakfast in bed.

Even when things got heated and passionate, Aaron would whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he thrusted into you. 'You are beautiful', 'I love you so much', 'I'd be nothing without you.' And in the moment it felt enough, like everything you ever wanted and needed, but it wasn't, because despite how much he claimed to love you you knew he loved his job more.

You knew that the second his phone rung he'd leave your side and wouldn't return for a week.

Today was different though, you told yourself over and over again, unable to fight the grin on your face as your style your hair for the fancy dinner out Aaron had promised. He'd made this same promise a number of times, and every single one of them fell through the roof because of a case, but this time felt different.

This time you were sure he was going to keep his promise. You didn't doubt him one bit, so when your phone started ringing and his name flashed you grinned with delight before answering the phone and putting it on speaker.

"Hey Handsome" You heard a hum on the other end of the line that made your heart swell. Hearing him after 5 days, even if it was just a hum made everything better.

"Hi Sweetheart" He sounded tired, understandably after a long case, but ignored it, knowing he hated when you sympathised with him in moments like these.

"So, I know you said you'd be here at 8, but I kind of got excited and got ready early and now I've got time if there's anything you need done-"

"Sweetheart, I'm not going to make it" You shut up, your smile frozen on your face as you wondered whether he'd actually spoken or if you'd thought it yourself. Your heart falls into your stomach as you stared at your reflection. You wanted to look nice for him, so you'd gotten yourself extra dolled up, but now... now he wasn't coming?

He'd broken his promise, again?

"What?" You asked, hoping it really was all just in your head.

"I know I promised I'd be home, but something has come up in Texas-" The rest of his words became background noise as you zoned out and in on your face in the mirror in front of you. The second unshed tears threatened your water line you closed your eyes. Exhausted. That's the best way to describe how you felt right now. You weren't upset, or angry, this was his job and you knew that the day you two went on your first day.

You were just exhausted. Tired of getting excited over and over again only to be let down every single time. You didn't blame Aaron, not one bit, but this whole situation, the way you've been living for the last 2 years, you were so tired of it... you couldn't do it anymore.

"It's fine, Aaron" You sighed, opening your eyes again and looking at yourself. A nice dress, hair and makeup done, you even did your nails because you know Aaron likes your red nail polish. All of it for nothing.

"I'm so sorry, honey" Aaron felt sick, like he was going to throw up. Guilt consumed him at having to cancel on you again, despite promising this time he'd finally be there for you. He loved you, with absolutely everything he had, and in a few years time he'd, with ease, drop everything for you. But he couldn't now. He wasn't ready to quit the FBI.

"It's fine, Aaron. It's always fine" Your reassurance is like a bullet to his heart. You were always so understanding, and Aaron knew he didn't deserve you, but he was just too selfish to let you go. What hurt more though, was hearing your voice crack. It was so faint, Aaron wondered if you'd even noticed.

"Y/n-" You didn't want to hear another apology come from his mouth, because he could apologise again and again and again, but it didn't make it any better. It only made saying 'it's fine' that much easier when it happened the next time.

"I'm tired, so I'm going to head to bed now" You weren't going to bed, but despite how much you loved Aaron, his voice was the last one you wanted to hear tonight. You were embarrassed, having been so excited for another failed plan. You cringed at your dolled up reflection, hating that the way you looked represented another disappointment.

"Y/n, please-" Aaron was desperate to talk even though he didn't know what else to say other than sorry, but you were desperate to hang up.

"Stay safe, alright?" Aaron was annoyed about the fact that he'd upset you and there you were still making sure he was safe and okay. You were putting him first despite the fact he had put you second again.

"I will. I love you" He said and closed his eyes waiting to hear you say it back. Instead he was met with radio silence. You hesitated to reply, not because you doubted how much you loved him, but because you doubted how much he loved you.

"You too. See ya" Before Aaron had even processed the fact you hadn't said it back, you hung up and practically threw your phone across your room. You hated feeling like this. You wanted to cry, but you felt like if you did you were being overdramatic. You thought it was unfair to Aaron if you reacted the way you wanted to, whereas he felt it was unfair to you.

The team needed Penelope with them, so they'd stopped off back in Virginia to pick her up. This is where Aaron stood, just outside the jet, phone in his hand down by his side as he stared out at the runway.

You didn't say 'I love you too' and that was all he could think about. No matter how many times he'd cancelled on you and called to disappoint you, you always hung up with an 'I love you', but not today. That was all Aaron needed to know that today was different, and he had royally fucked up with you.

There was nothing more he wanted to do than turn around and walk home to you, but his team needed him. One word from them and he'd leave for yours in a heartbeat. He needed to fix this. He needed to make sure you were okay. He needed you.

Aaron stepped back onboard and it was almost as if the air had changed in the jet. Every single member of the team knew something was up the second he hopped back onto the jet. His posture was the same, his usual blank frown, from the outside he looked like he did everyday, but they'd all been on the team long enough to know Aaron's tell- the way he opens and closes his hand into a tight fist by his side.

It was something he did when he felt overwhelmed. Not knowing how to react, or how to busy himself, he clenched and unclenched his hand over and over again, not even noticing it himself. And right now as he sat down across from Rossi and Derek, he clenched his hand tighter than usual, something they both immediately noticed.

"Everything alright?" Rossi asked, placing the case file back on the small table and putting all his attention on Aaron. Even Derek subtly paused the music flowing through his headphones, and lifted his eyes.

"No, I don't think so" Aaron sighed, running a hand down his face tiredly as he glanced out the jet window, seeing the headlights of the SUV Penelope was coming in from afar.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"It's Y/n" Whether or not Aaron usually spoke much about his and your relationship, the team knew that if something was wrong with you and it was putting a dampener on his mood, then it was serious. Serious enough that Aaron had closed the new Texas case file and slid it away from himself.

Rossi immediately understood. He's known of a couple of the times Aaron has had to cancel on you, and how you had reacted to each of them. "I'm sure everything is fine, Aaron. Y/n is a very understanding woman."

"That's the problem. 'It's fine. It's always fine' is what she said" Derek decided he'd add his little bit, still not understanding the issue quite the way Rossi did.

"I don't understand. You've got yourself a beautiful woman who not only understands your workload, but respects it too" What Derek said only made Aaron feel worse.

"Yeah but she's upset. She doesn't say it, but I can here it in her voice. I promised I'd finally take her out for dinner tonight after having to cancel on her time and time again" Aaron, despite how calm he may have sounded, was getting worked up.

"Aaron-"

"She was so excited, and finally, when she thinks I'm calling to tell her I'm on my way, it's actually me calling to disappoint her again. She doesn't deserve it" The way Aaron drifted off at the end made both Derek and Rossi frown. It almost sounded like he was coming up with a solution for your disappointment in his head.

"So what, you're going to break up with her?" Rossi asked, but Aaron was quick to shake his head, his gaze drifting back out the jet window as he sighed.

"I love her too much to lose her" Aaron mumbled, absentmindedly playing with your hair tie he keeps on his wrist at all times, just in case.

"So, keep your promise" The words. The few words Aaron needed to hear to make him run to you, but you didn't want him to run to you.

In fact, you were glad Aaron wasn't with you, otherwise he would've heard your sobs and seen your streaking mascara. Half an hour it took you to actually force yourself up and out of the seat at your vanity. You had wiped off most of your makeup, although getting some of the mascara and eyeliner off was harder so there was a very faint black smudge around your eyes. You'd ran your hands through your hair so many times that the curls had been pulled apart leaving your hair a little frizzier than before.

All you had to do now was take off your shoes and dress. You unbuckled both black heels but before you could slip out of the dress there was a knock at the door. Not having the energy to put up with whoever was on the other side of the door you ignored it, hoping they'd get the memo or that they'd think nobody was home and leave. 15 seconds later though and there was another knock. You left it again, but when the person knocked for a third time you huffed and stormed over to the door.

"Yes?" You grunted swinging open the door and freezing as your eyes met Aaron's dark brown ones. Your hand tightened around the door knob as you shuffled back slightly, not expecting him to be standing there with a bunch of tulips.

"Hi" His voice was so soft, worried you didn't want him there, but turning up anyway cause there was nowhere he'd rather be. Your eyes began to burn, but you quickly blinked away the feeling, licking your bottom lip before looking back up at his face.

"What are you doing here?" Aaron takes a step forward, holding the tulips in one hand, and his go bag in his other.

"Keeping my promise."

"I'm not in the mood to go out anymore" You reply, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear, Aaron nodding and offering you a soft smile to let you know that's okay. If Aaron was honest, he wasn't in the mood to go out either. He just wanted to stay in with you, forever.

"That's fine. We'll stay in" Aaron noticed the fact your hand was still on the doorknob and the way you hadn't really moved from the front door. You were hesitant to let him in.

"You're supposed to be on your way to Texas" You mumbled, looking away from his face and down at the ground. Aaron took a step forward, and despite the clear fact you weren't overly fond of him in this moment, you didn't move. Because despite being upset, you loved him, and you loved his presence and the warmth he radiated.

"No, the team are on their way to Texas. I'm here with you" He bent his head a little, hoping to catch your eye but still couldn't. He hated seeing anything other than a smile on your beautiful face. Knowing you were upset and it was his fault killed him on the inside.

"You shouldn't be here" You sighed, finally looking up. Aaron's stare trapped you, stopping you from looking away from him. Intense and raw, he held you hostage with just his eyes and even though you were upset, you couldn't deny the way they were able to calm you. Slightly.

"They can manage perfectly fine without me."

"Aaron-"

"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't deserve a lot, especially you, but I'm going to prove to you that I can deserve you" Aaron stated, placing the tulips on the little table beside the door that you usually chucked your mail on. Then he lightly shut the door, eyes watching you intently as you spoke.

"Aaron, I'm not angry at you. This is your job. I knew that the moment I met you, and I continued to understand that when I realised I was in love with you. But I feel like I'm suffocating here, which I get is ironic for the fact you're not around much-"

"I'm stepping down" The short and sharp confession caught you off guard, your eyes widening as you stared at a deadly serious Aaron. You thought you'd misheard him, but the look on his face told you otherwise. He'd definitely said what you heard, and he definitely meant it.

"What?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while, but on the ride here it became official. I'm stepping down from Unit Chief, I'll stay a profiler in the BAU, but it means a lot less work, and a lot more time here with you-"

"What? No, you can't do that" You quickly interrupted, shaking your head. You couldn't tell him what to and what not to do, but you were going to pretend you could right now in hopes he'd listen, understand and agree.

"It's too late. It's official and effective immediately" You stared, eyes wide in disbelief as they bounced across his face.

"You didn't even want to talk about this with me first?"

"What's there to talk about?" He shrugged.

"Aaron, you've been Unit Chief for ages. If you're stepping down for me-" Your words are cut short as Aaron places his bag on the ground and steps into you. Your lips remain parted and you can't help but melt into him as his hands grasp onto your face, pulling your forehead to his lips momentarily. He pressed a lingering kiss before pulling back and staring deeply into your eyes.

"That's exactly why I'm stepping down, honey. You. Because I love you so god damn much and because being away from you week after week is killing me. At the end of every night I want to fall asleep in bed beside you, not in a crappy motel alone. I want to be here, with you. You're my home, Y/n" Your eyes water the longer you stare at the man you love. He was giving up so much for you and you couldn't help but feel guilty even if he made it clear how much he wanted it.

"Aaron..." You whisper, your gaze jumping between his eyes as he rubs his thumbs along your keep bones. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes remaining on your face even when you close your eyes.

"You're not holding me back from my job, my job was holding me back from you. I'll still be gone here and there, but I will make it my mission to get back to you as soon as possible. This is my decision and there is nothing you could do or say that'd make me change my mind" So dominant, so serious, so definite. This was Aaron's decision to make, not yours, his, and he couldn't be more happier. He was going to miss being Unit Chief, but being with you made up for it and more.

"Are you sure?" You whisper, running your hands up his shoulders and into his hair. Aaron presses his head back into your hands, urging you to run your hands through his hair.

"Yes honey, I'm sure" Aaron whispers back before tilting his head and pressing his lips flush against yours. You suck in a sharp breath, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you tight into his chest, his lips refusing to leave yours even for a second. This was all you both wanted; each other. You ran your hands through his hair before slipping them down until you're cupping his jaw and pulling his mouth from yours.

"I love you" You whisper, leaning forward and brushing your lips back against Aaron's. His breath is hot and minty against your face as he crack's an inevitable smile. You said it back...finally.

"I love you too."

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds

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m1lflov3rrr · 7 months

Note

Hi hiiiiii! Firstly, lemme just say I absolutely ADORE your fics on wattpad and im SO thrilled you're also here on tumblr now??!?!? An absolute treat, this is <3

Anyways as for requests— can I request Larissa and/or Marilyn dealing with Y/N who's got a really bad sleeping schedule thanks to having the WORST case of insomnia? (fluff most appreciated, but IF you want somth more spicy to deal it, I wouldn't say no to it hehe 💕 :3c)

Thank you sm <3

Thank you for the request and so sorry it took literally MONTHS!!! But here it is now!! And thank you for your kind words, means so much to me <3 I really hope you enjoy this, I made a few changes to it. I don’t have that much experience with insomnia, but with sleep deprivation so I wrote about that, I hope it is okay!

No Rest for the Wicked

Pairing: Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Warnings: sleep deprivation, health issues, fainting, worrying, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Larissa tries to help you when she notices how little you’re sleeping…

You sighed deeply as you raised your gaze from your laptop and looked out the window. A heavy fog had descended on the school grounds, reaching as far as the tired eye could see.

The fog was persistent, it was thick.

You felt like your thoughts were similarly clouded. You smiled at the irony.

Returning your gaze back to your work, you looked at the time, it was way past 4 am already. Larissa would wake up soon.

For the past few weeks it had been like this. You were staying up late, only getting a few hours of sleep a night. And sometimes, like tonight, no sleep at all.

You felt that you didn’t have enough time. The work load you had felt like the weight of the world rested on your shoulders. You had stacks of ungraded papers, lesson plans to finalize, and a curriculum to update.

You were exhausted.

You tried your best to hide it, you didn’t want Larissa to get worried. Because her concern would’ve broken your heart.

Every day went like this: You ’got up’ at 6, prepared for your lessons of the day and started at 8, taught for 8 hours straight, got back to your shared quarters and spent the rest of the night with Larissa. And after she had fallen asleep, you’d finish your work and prepare for the next day.

You didn’t have the heart to tell your wife how much workload you’d had recently and how overwhelming it was for you. You had had difficulties in the past finding time to spend together, and after months of you both trying to work it out, it was, indeed, working.

But lately, it had become too much. With the work, of course. You knew that Larissa would get concerned and start panicking and rushing things to make it better. You didn’t want that. She had her own job to do, which definitely had a workload twice as big as yours was. You felt pathetic. Your wife does three times the work you do in a day and you’re still stressed? Yes, pathetic.

You finished your lesson plans for the day, just to save yourself some time later.

It was 5:13 am when you were done. You rubbed your temples to ease your already growing headache as you got up from the desk, swayed there for a bit before making your way to the bathroom.

You winced at your reflection in the mirror. Your dark and puffy undereyes were still there, if not even more bad and noticeable. This was the first time in your 25 years of living that you had had eye bags. You knew it was bad.

You hopped in the shower to keep yourself up and maybe gather some energy to get through the day. At first the cold water did wake you up a bit more. Then, when you turned it a little bit warmer, you realized how bad of an idea it was. The warm water relaxed all those tense muscles in your body and you closed your eyes to enjoy the feeling.

And your eyes stayed closed for a bit too long. If you weren’t so tired, you would have laughed at yourself. The image of you half asleep, standing in your shower. What in the actual fuck, really?

But something made you jump and push your body’s cries for help and sleep to the back of your mind.

”Darling?” You heard Larissa’s hoarse morning voice call out to you from the door.

”Mhm?” You hummed as you turned the water back to cold to not almost fall asleep again.

”Nothing, just wondering how you’re up so early every morning this week, usually it’s a task itself to get you up,” She chuckled at her own words.

You smiled to yourself and turned the faucet off, stepping out of the shower so you could see her.

You noticed how she was checking you out, biting her lip as her eyes roamed across your body. You smirked at her as you took your towel and dried yourself, about to wrap it around your bare body.

She quickly snapped out of her trance and stepped forward, taking the towel in her hands and unwrapping it, causing it to drop on the floor.

”I don’t think we’ll be needing that.” She said in a low tone as she pulled you flush against her body by your waist, attacking your neck with her mouth.

You hummed in delight and closed your eyes in satisfaction at the sudden move, wrapping your hands around her neck.

You let out little gasps, you couldn’t even let out a simple moan because of your sleep-deprived state.

And it felt so good, feeling your wife’s lips on your neck, still keeping your eyes shut, leaning into her, maybe leaning too much, starting to drift off, losing your balance…

Your eyes snapped open when your heard Larissa’s sudden, loud gasp, as she had her arms tightly wrapped around your torso to keep you from falling to the hard floor.

”Darling, what on earth just happened here?!” She asked in shock as you stood up.

You took a moment to process what she just said, just because you couldn’t think as fast as usual.

”What? M’sorry, just got a little.. distracted there, I think..” You responded hazily, trying to focus your eyes to look into hers.

She ducked her head a bit, trying to get a closer look of you and inspecting your condition. ”Are you alright? You had me worried there, are you sure you want to go to work today? You can take the day off, okay?”

Your eyes widened in panic, ”No, no, Rissa I am absolutely fine, and I will not be taking the day off. You shouldn’t be concerned, I am okay.” You said hurriedly and walked away, leaving your wife standing in the bathroom, extremely confused and concerned.

”Okay, I think it’s time we all head for lunch, see you guys tomorrow!” You announced the class with a smile, packing your things and leaving for the dining hall. As you entered the hall, you seached for your wife with your eyes, as you always ate lunch together. She wasn’t there.

You yelped loudly when you felt someone grab your shoulder from behind, causing some people nearby to look at your weirdly. You turned around, ”God, you scared me, Rissa,” You breathed out.

She just responded with a laugh, sliding her arm to the small of your back and guiding you to walk together to get the food.

As you sat down, you began eating in silence. You opened a can of energy drink, something that you’d been drinking a lot these days. You didn’t usually even drink those that often, but you needed something to keep you up and awake.

Larissa sent you a scolding look, a frown tugging at her lips. ”Y/N, what’s this?”

You widened your eyes, you didn’t want her to find out like this. Or any other way. ”Oh, that’s just an energy drink. Thought it might give me a little boost.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, ”A boost? Y/N, darling, this isn’t healthy. Are you not sleeping enough?”

You smiled, but it was forced. ”Rissa, I’m fine. It’s just been a busy week.”

She sighed, looking at you with worry-filled eyes. ”Y/N, I can see something is going on, don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, I’m here to help you. We’re a team, remember?”

Your gaze softened, you were really lucky to have her. But you didn’t want her to know. You didn’t want her you worry about you, because when Larissa got worried, it was all she could think about. She couldn’t work, rest, do anything. She’d have to get to the bottom of it.

You pursed your lips and took her hand in yours, ”I know, and I appreciate that. But I’ve got this, Rissa. Trust me.”

It had been a few days since that, and your condition and fatigue were only growing worse. Your work load seemed to have doubled since that day. You were trying (and struggling) to stay awake with the constant consumption of caffeine.

The fog was growing thicker and thicker. You barely could see where you were walking.

Larissa had had enough. She had been watching your extremely concerning situation unfold in the past few days into something much more worrying. She couldn’t bear seeing you suffer like this for a moment longer. This had to end now.

You were sitting in your classroom, head buried in your hands as you tried to take a deep breath so that the pounding headache you had recently gotten would go away. You’d taken more aspirin than you probably should have, but it didn’t do anything. You were feeling miserable, physically, and that way, emotionally, too.

Your eyes began to feel heavier and heavier, and you almost didn’t hear the sharp knock on your classroom door. You flinched harshly at that, squeaking a quiet, ”It’s open.”

You heard the door opening and the familiar clacking of heels filled the room.

”Darling?”

Her voice was soft, almost a little wary.

You raised your gaze to meet hers, ”Yes?”

Her eyes were filled with concern, barely hidden. ”I’m worried about you. I can see that something’s going on, and if you’d just please, please let me in, I could help you. Okay?”

You pursed your lips. You knew this was coming. ”Larissa there is absolutely no reason for you to worry. I am fine, okay?” Your voice was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

”No, you’re not.” She snarled, her tone of voice contrasting the one she had just moments prior. ”You’ve been running on fumes for days! Darling, this… this can’t go on any longer.” Her voice broke as her eyes held a silent plea.

Your jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the floor. ”I can handle it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep convincing yourself that.

”Y/N you almost collapsed earlier! This can’t go on.” She stepped closer, reaching her hand out to touch your shoulder.

You shrugged off her touch, ”It was nothing. Just a moment of dizziness.”

Larissa scoffed, her patience was wearing thin. ”And what happens when it’s not just a moment? What happens when you can’t get back up?”

Something in that comment did it. Your eyes flashed with fury as your tone of voice turned into one laced with venom. ”You just don’t get it, Larissa! I can fucking handle myself!”

Her brows furrowed and you could’ve sworn you almost saw her flinch a little. ”Look, I am not trying to belittle you. I just want and need you to take care of yourself.”

Your head tilted as your eyes held nothing but defiance in them. You felt your breathing pick up, uncontrollably, and how that pounding headache seemed to double, you started feeling a little lightheaded. But you chose to do what you’d been doing for god knows how long now. You ignored it.

”I don’t, I don’t need you constantly watching over me.” You said, out of breath.

Your wife’s expression dropped as she realized your condition and what could be happening next. She approached you cautiously, attempting to try and calm you down. ”Y/N, darling, this is not about control. It’s about caring for you.” She told calmly, cupping your face with her soft palm.

You shook your head, ”You suffocate me, Larissa! I can’t breathe with you hovering over me all the time!”

Larissa’s heart sank at that. She never meant for it to come to this. She only wanted the best for you, to protect you.

”Y/N, please, I…”

Your breathing laboured and before she could finish, your legs gave way and you collapsed on the cold, hard floor.

”Y/N!” Larissa’s voice came out as a terrified cry as she rushed forward to try and catch you, but she was too late.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she knelt beside you, shaking you gently and trying to wake you up. ”Y/N, can you hear me?! Please, say something..”

Your eyes fluttered open, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Your breathing was still laboured and the words you tried to speak came out as a strained whisper.

”Y/N, I’m taking you to the infirmary.” She breathed out as she scooped you up in her arms and rushed out the classroom.

Since then, you and Larissa made an agreement. Well, you didn’t have much say in it, since Larissa demanded it.

Larissa began monitoring your schedule, making sure you were following the new schedule she had made for you. And there was no room for negotiaton, absolutely no exceptions.

Larissa also began cooking more, preparing the meals with care and love, making sure each one was balanced with important nutrients to get your energy levels for the better.

Bedtime was the most strictly monitored. As evening approached, Larissa would guide you through a calming routine. She’d prepare a warm bath with your favourite scents, she’d slip in as well and wash your hair for you, massaging your head to calm you down. Then, she’d dress you into comfortable pyjamas and lead you to bed, prepare you a nice cup of tea and dim the lights.

And she’d lull you to sleep with soothing caresses and words of affirmation, telling you how much she loved you, again and again, kissing your whole body as she did so.

And it worked perfectly. You were feeling both, physically and mentally better. The dark circles under your eyes were slowly fading away, your energy starting to gain back. You also growed to appreciate your wife a thousand times more.

One evening, you were sitting in your shared bedroom, by your desk. Your laptop was open and you were determined to finish grading some papers for your students. Then, Larissa entered the room, the stern look on her face telling everything. ”Darling, it’s time for dinner.”

You sighed, closing the laptop as you didn’t want to argue about it. And you were starving too.

You ate in silence with her, you occasionally stealing glances at her. The way she fussed about your portion sizes, making sure you got the right nutrients for your health - you heart warmed as it was all an expression of love.

Once you were finished, she led you to bed, undressing you and helping you with your pyjamas. I could’ve done that myself, you thought.

”Now, off to bed. You need your rest, dearest.”

You smiled as she laid down next to you, caressing your hair and kissing you softly. And you kissed her back, again and again. Soon, you fell into a peaceful slumber, under Larissa’s loving gaze. She laid a final kiss on your forehead, ”I love you, my darling.” She whispered before drifting off as well.

And if you looked outside, you’d have noticed that the fog had finally cleared.

#larissa weems #wednesday #principal weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x y/n

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katerina-marie · 26 days

Text

Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 1

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 6.2k

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff later, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho sorry), SFW (may change in later chapters idk), no use of y/n. More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes:

Product of an angsty Suguru Tik Tok. I have roughly five or so more chapters thought out for this, but that is subject to change as none of it is written yet. Canon events are loosely followed from Hidden Inventory and JJK0, but future events (Shibuya/Kenjaku) will not happen.

I've taken liberties with JJK canon/timeline for this fic. While not explicitly mentioned in the story, reader, Gojo, and Geto are all 20/21 with Nanami and Haibara being a year younger when the hidden inventory arc starts. There would only be 5ish years between HI and JJK0, and then another year or two between JJK0 and present day JJK where Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara are at the school (their ages stay the same and I’m sorry cause I know that wouldn’t fit with the changed timeline, but they will most likely only ever be mentioned through conversation in this story).

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Chapter 1: Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (For the Sake of Understanding)

September

“Suguru?”

The dial tone was constant and unyielding, just as it was with the previous four phone calls.

Unanswered. Ignored. Avoided. Did it happen gradually, the pulling away of a boy who sat nestled in every major part of yourself? You could recall your last conversation, only a few days prior, and it was stilted in a way they hadn’t ever been before.

“Suguru?”

His reply was delayed, as if the distance that separated the two of you actually affected how quickly your words reached him. There were currently hundreds, maybe thousands of miles in between each of your current locations on Earth—missions and curses…they never gave consideration to lovers or their quarrels—and for the first time, the distance felt detrimental and significant.

“Hm, yes?”

“I said, ‘I love you,’ and hopefully I’ll be home in three or four days. We’ll spend that evening together, yeah?”

In the silence, all you could think was ‘he’s slipping, he’s slipping, he’s sl — ,’

“Sure, I’ll see you then.”

Had his voice always been so tired and hollow? Had he always felt so distant and uninterested in the words coming out of your mouth? You were used to his rapt attention and soft affirmations in your conversations, always letting you know that he was focused on you. So when, in the last year, had Suguru become a shell of himself? You should have known, and your conscious would tell you that your level of intimacy (‘girlfriend’ felt like such a lackluster term for what you were to him, but your relationship hadn’t progressed further yet to earn you any other title) demanded you be aware of the moment things began to crack and crumble. All you knew was this: that there was the murder of a girl with a purpose that had been determined years prior—whose fate had changed under his watch—along with the brief but insurmountable amount of time that Suguru believed his best friend was also dead.

Gojo Satoru. A close friend he was to you, once maybe out of obligation to your partner in the beginning, but there had been enough time to have built a friendship of your own over the years. Surely, now that you took a second to consider the situation, he would know what to do.

“Satoru,” you mumbled, “I should call, Satoru.”

And yet, the dial tone remained unrelenting. The A/C unit of your hotel room hummed under the bottom edge of smoke-beige curtains, and the muffled slam of a door down the hall caused you to jump from your seat on the edge of the bed. The phone remained tightly clasped in your hand and it pushed just hard enough against your ear that pain began to erupt from where the post of an earring dug into your skin.

“Suguru?”

——————————————

Your phone rang an hour after leaving the hotel room to begin your journey home. It was in the middle of a foreign airport, your clothes were sticking to your skin after the rushed shuffling through security, and Shoko had just told you that Geto Suguru was currently wanted for the murder of 112 people and his subsequent defection from jujutsu society.

“Is he…does anyone know where he is?” The question slipped out quietly as you dropped into a black leather seat and dragged your suitcase in front of you so you could lean your elbows on it. You took a quick glance up at a screen and tried to decide if “Gate 7” was truly flashing in the top right corner or if it were the building tears in your eyes that were starting to blur the number into a different shape entirely.

“No, he hasn’t been located, and he’s not responding to our phone calls either. Not even Gojo’s. Have you—,”

“No.” You let out a wet laugh and the man in the seat next to you cast a long sideways look in your direction before getting up and moving a couple seats away. Did you look so distraught that the idea of possibly spending hours on a plane next to you was so unappealing? Another stare from a woman in the seat across from you and the tear-drop shaped spots appearing on your pants convinced you that you were better off not knowing.

“I’m so sorry,” Shoko began, and for the first time, her voice brought none of the comfort and healing it usually did. “We debated telling you and waiting until you touched down back home, but Gojo figured you’d…”

Shoko trailed off without any other indication of what considerations for your feelings were taken into account during their discussion, and all that you could respond with was a shake of your head and a hushed “no, no.” You couldn’t decide if you were grateful to know immediately of what had transpired instead of being surprised with the news upon arrival home, or if you were appalled at their thought that sitting trapped in a plane with hours to despair at the unbelievability of it all was the better suited alternative.

A flurry of sudden motion and shuffling around you jolted you back into awareness, and you realized with a sudden panic that your plane was beginning to board. Your only connection to what was going on was about to be severed. You stood with the others and began the slow march to line up at the terminal.

“Shoko, I’m about to board my plane but please—,” A sob cut you off, and you knew that you were further from finishing that sentence than you were from the one person you yearned to be beside at that moment. A heavy ache settled in your stomach at the thought. Suddenly, there was a realization that some great reconciliation was to be made in regard to who Suguru was to you before this point and what he would be now and going forth. In no possible scenario did you see yourself emerging totally unscathed.

Shoko was silent for a moment before offering some reassurance you didn’t really hear and then muttered a quick goodbye. Between that minute and the next, you had boarded the plane, stowed away your suitcase, found a seat next to the window, and picked a spot in the sky to stare at lest the environment around you remind you of how trapped you were.

“Suguru?”

——————————————

“Suguru!”

Screaming your boyfriend’s name from across a crowded street wasn’t what you had envisioned when you thought of your return home, even after the news had broken. But time hadn’t let you attempt to catch up before it decided that the person you treasured most in the world was to continue unraveling on a schedule you had no hope of following.

You had barely taken your first steps out of the airport onto paved sidewalks when your phone rang again. The ringtone could only play its first few chimes before you had it up to your ear with a breathless reply already on its way out.

“I found him.”

Shoko sounded neither relieved nor any more worried than she had when the two of you had spoken hours earlier, but you didn’t have a chance to question her further before she set your whole being on edge.

“Suguru confirmed the reports, and I’ve called Satoru already.”

For a split second, dread filled your limbs and you stumbled in your step that took you from a standstill to a sprint. Why did the thought of Satoru confronting your boyfriend offer anything other than utter relief?

“Where are you? Shoko, please tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there!”

‘Right there’ had you struggling against the hold Shoko had on your shoulders as you watched from a distance as Suguru and Satoru stood opposite each other. People weaved in and around the two, unaware of the danger, the devastation, of the complete dismantling that was occurring just beside them.

“Suguru! Suguru, Suguru, Suguru!” Your screaming seemed to have no effect on him, and you would have lied and told yourself that he just couldn’t hear you, but the disdainful stares of the oblivious people all around kept you from denial.

Suguru remained placid as he stood and took the brunt of both yours and Satoru's desperate calls to bring him back. He looked so much like the boy you had fallen in love with, but then again not at all the same. His hair was different. Half of it laid unbound against his neck, though the piece that framed the left side of his face still hid the corner of his eye. You stared at him, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to commit every inch of him to your memory or simply beseeching him to spare just a glance in your direction. Had his cheeks always been so gaunt? Did the delicate skin under his eyes always bruise purple like they were now? What else had been missed in the last year that could be counted and added to this moment?

Before you could damn yourself further for missing the signs of Suguru’s slow deterioration, the raising of Satoru’s arm had your whole existence narrowing until it was just the two of them in frame. The sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears faded. The warm feeling of panic that had started in your chest, radiated down your arms, and made your fingers feel numb blended in with the shuddering of Shoko’s chest against your back. All the background noise—the clack of dress shoes on concrete, the whir of car engines flying by that also shuttered the view in front of you, to the incessant wailing of your boyfriend’s name—suddenly ceased as two of Gojo Satoru’s fingers began to close in on one another.

“Satoru!”

One day, Gojo Satoru would be brave enough to remember what it felt like to hear you lament his name. He could recall fondly and effortlessly how his name and the one of his best friend could slip so seamlessly, interchangeably, from your lips. But now, when he swore you were moving your mouth though nothing else but his name came out, it would haunt him in his dreams, his memories, and everything in between.

“Satoru!” Urging, demanding, and shrill.

Do it, do it, do it.

“Satoru!” Pleading, shrieking, and broken.

Please, don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

Satoru’s fingers remained a hairsbreadth apart, and Suguru’s back turned as he walked away with nothing more than an unaffected wave over his shoulder. Shoko still trembled, Satoru’s face crumpled, and your heart and mind had broken into pieces that scattered far beyond your reach.

All the while, there would be a day upcoming when all of this would have to be condensed into something that was capable of being understood.

Today was not that day.

——————————————

December 24, Years Later

Did your footsteps have to echo what your heart was chanting?

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

Your walk to the communal lounge of the Jujutsu High-Tokyo campus was different, in some ways, from usual. Familiar stone scraped at the bottom of your shoes. Acrid smoke still hung in the air, and pieces of wood and rock falling to the ground could be heard echoing from where buildings and walls were left in ruin. The fading orange of a winter sunset was dipping below the remaining trees, leaving behind a night that was dark and dreadful and devastated.

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

And then you were here, at the door you had to open and walk through before any number of questions you had could be answered. With a deep inhale, you took your first step forward to pass over the threshold and the room that was full of people, though couldn’t be considered noisy, went silent.

Principal Yaga stood in a corner to the right with a cell phone at his ear. Nanami sat at a table with his spotted tie loosened around his neck and his suit jacket thrown over the back of his chair in an uncommon show of haggard exhaustion. Behind him, Shoko was washing her hands in a sink where the water swirled with something pink. You jerked your head to the left to avoid having to process the sight further, but what you looked upon instead didn’t spare you any relief.

The underclassmen, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki, hovered around a loveseat where Okkotsu sat slumped with his head in his hands. All four of them were covered in varying degrees of debris, bandages, and scant traces of blood. It made you feel a little better to think that’s all Shoko had been washing off in the sink.

What didn’t help ease the knots in your stomach was the way Okkotsu never raised his head to acknowledge the entrance of your presence—a contradiction to his normal deferential behavior—but also how the rest of the eyes in the room all looked at you with varying degrees of emotion. None were malicious, but unnerving nonetheless.

Pity, unsureness, sorrow, regret, and condolence—,

Your sharp inhale was enough to make a person or two flinch, but no one else moved and you were left to contemplate whether fleeing to solitary misery would hurt less than receiving answers about what had happened tonight.

Before you could decide what to do, the door to the back of the lounge slid open and Satoru stepped inside. His bandages around his eyes were off, and he was looking at you in a way he never had until now. How you were supposed to interpret that look and what it could even mean…well, you didn’t have the slightest clue, and that would be the final blow to your being.

You had already lurched back to reach for the door when Satoru called your name, and you were slow to turn around to face him. When you did, he used his head to nod to the garden through the door of the lounge in a bid to get you to follow him before exiting the room the same way he came. You took a deep breath and gave a helpless search around the room before following after him into the night. Someone had the grace to close the door behind you.

The two of you walked a few steps into the garden, and while it did nothing to ease the turmoil you were feeling, the vastness of the night sky and coolness of the air was preferable to the atmosphere in the lounge you were just in. When you and Satoru finally came to a halt, you weren’t close enough to touch, but if you tried, your fingertips would just miss the fabric of his uniform. You waited for him to speak, swallowing once, twice, a third time to try and clear the tension out of your throat. Your hands began to tremble, and a stinging burn rushed up through your nose to prick at the corners of your eyes.

With only a whisper of clothing as a warning, Satoru’s hand reached out to cup the back of your neck and draw you into his shoulder, his arms capable of closing the distance between you without requiring him to step nearer. His other hand settled between your shoulder blades while yours loosely gripped the fabric at his ribcage. The embrace only lasted another second before he was pulling away with a gentle squeeze around your arms and letting his own drop to his sides.

“You’re aware of what led up to all this tonight, correct?” Satoru asked, gesturing vaguely to the campus surrounding you both. There was no preamble from him and you watched as his eyes flicked between yours.

“Yes,” you nodded, “I was there in the city with everyone, Satoru. I saw you leave, and once everything finished I stayed after to check on everyone from Kyoto before coming back here.” You let your eyes wander around over Satoru’s shoulder, and you could just faintly make out a persisting plume of smoke in the distance.

“He was here,” you continued, no more asking him a question than you were stating what you already knew, “and this was him?” Even though it was meek, your voice didn’t crack.

Satoru hummed out an affirmation, not needing to clarify what you said in order for him to know that you were referring to the damaged state of the school as a result of Suguru’s presence.

“Alright,” you started, firm and as prepared as you could make yourself in this moment, “where is he?”

Satoru carried on without acknowledging the question you asked. “Some of the damage is from him fighting Maki, Panda, and Inumaki, but most of it is from his fight with Okkostu and Rika after the others became too injured. I arrived just at the end.”

It was here that you started to feel like you were listening to his words from somewhere outside your body. There was an outcome that you were waiting to learn of, and you knew you either needed to ask a question or make some kind of noise or movement to prompt him to go forward. But really, your head felt like it was full of static and you couldn’t begin to piece the words together to make them sound even remotely coherent.

The end, the end, the end, the e–,

“The end?” You asked on an exhale, stunned when you saw Satoru’s chin quiver just once. You realized then that you hadn’t ever really taken the time to study the world’s strongest sorcerer. Did the blue of his eyes always reflect even the dimmest of light, or was there something else that caused them to swim as they did now? He stood rigid, but then again Satoru always held himself up to his full height, unbothered by the weight that sat on his shoulders and unencumbered by the threat of a physical blow. Maybe now that you could notice, as you saw how his head hung slightly and weariness lowered his stature, it was apparent that the time Satoru spent constantly guarding his person never allowed for the same courtesy to his mind. You wondered if the vulnerability of it, of how he sacrificed himself to the heavy weight of emotional torment, was what eventually managed to dim the spirit of the person in front of you right now.

“Suguru’s dead. ”

One day, you’d look back and wonder if you already knew what was going to come out of Satoru’s mouth. The news had the ground beneath your feet tilting in different directions in a way that threatened the contents of your stomach, and it did expel the air from your lungs in a pained-sounding moan. But it didn’t send the electrical current of shock through your body that you were waiting for. You’d suspect that you were aware of it from the moment you set foot on campus, that the tension in the air and the stiffness of everyone in the lounge had been direct indicators that the worst had occurred. Perhaps you knew, but needed Satoru to deliver that blow in order for it to land.

You struggled to find a way to think past the roaring in your ears, so you tangled your fingers together in order to dig your nails into the skin on the backs of your hands. When the pain didn’t register and the blood welling up underneath them didn’t scare you into looking away, you fixed your gaze up on Satoru’s eyes in a desperate attempt to pull yourself out from inside yourself. They were wide in concerned alarm from whatever he saw on your face.

“God, so…,” you heaved a breath and closed your eyes to try and focus on getting your thoughts into something more than garbled syllables, “so that’s why Okkotsu looks the way he does…in there? He, uhm, he ki—,”

“No.” Satoru pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and rolled his head back to look up at the sky before returning back to you. Did he feel the same trepidation that snaked under your skin and knocked at your chest? Did your eyes reflect back to him the pleading that was going on in your head? To who, though? Certainly, the time for bargaining was long past. “No, Okkotsu didn’t kill Suguru. He wounded him…badly. But Suguru was able to retreat in the haze of the smoke and I…he…”

He what? Suguru? Okkotsu? If allowed, the endless possibilities of “what if” would steal whatever peace remained from you, and if closure wasn’t something granted to you, you would respond in kind.

“What, Satoru? He what? You have to be clearer. You have to tell me, for the sake of my own understanding.”

The sliding of the lounge door caught your attention and interrupted whatever Satoru was going to say next. You glanced over, watching as Nanami stepped out from around the door, shut it, and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Satoru giving him the faintest nod and you wondered if he had asked him to come out here. The reason wasn’t quite clear to you yet, but you stared at him, trying to figure out what part the blonde-haired sorcerer was about to play in all of this.

Ever present Nanami, stoic as he was strong, but soft spoken and never cruel for cruelty’s sake. Always maintained rigid self control and composure, even in the face of his best friend’s death. He was steady and stable, easily beat against but never yielded, made to never move under such intense pressure.

The thought had you turning back to Satoru, perplexed about what Nanami’s presence might be implying. What was about to come out of Gojo Satoru’s mouth that made him think he wouldn’t be enough for you? Or—in an even worse consideration—that he was about to become too much for you.

“I found Suguru after his fight with Okkotsu in some obscure corner of campus,” Satoru whispered, and you dared not move or breathe as you waited for his next words. “I found him…and I killed him.”

You had to hold a hand up to your chest, right between your breasts and over your heart as it began to rise and fall with the rapidness of your breaths, if only to ensure that it kept beating as every second ticked past the next. You felt your mouth drop open, felt your throat vibrate with some wounded noise, and watched as Satoru held out his hand to you, immense regret tightening his features, along with glistening tears clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. What hurt more though was the memory of Satoru’s arm reaching out like it did now, some years ago on the day Suguru left, his fingers trembling as they inched towards each other in his best friend's direction. You wondered—painfully, regrettably—if that’s what Suguru saw too right before it all went dark, and the sight of it was enough to send you staggering backwards. Someone caught you with large hands curling around the tops of your shoulders and—,

Oh, that’s what Nanami was for.

Taking advantage of your friend behind you, you wilted backwards against Nanami’s chest and sobbed, neither of you unnerved by the ugly gasping of it. The hand that wasn’t still clutched against your body in the hopes of keeping yourself sealed shut shot up to grasp at Nanami’s forearm in an effort to abate the buckling of your knees. Because in front of you, the honored one stood a few feet away from you with eyes made empty and full of loss, and you struggled to reconcile which one of you were owed more the space to fall apart. Perhaps it was you both, as grief in situations like this happened to be a great equalizer, and you considered, as your friend stared at you with pained hopelessness, that maybe—certainly—Satoru was entitled to his own moment of sorrow in front of you. The thought lent sturdiness to your stance and you pushed forward off Nanami and used the momentum to propel yourself into Satoru. You worried briefly that maybe the two of you wouldn’t make contact, that he wouldn’t allow you into the space of him, but your arms landed around his neck, your chest met his, and his hands pushed you past any remaining distance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice shaking and hands hovering infinitesimally over your hips before they settled against you. All you could do was shake your head against his shoulder. There was no question about how equally wounded Satoru was. Where you now mourned the forever plans that once existed in the bright eyes and easy laugh of a man since gone, Satoru had the honor of shouldering the burden of knowing he was the one who snuffed those plans out, though the fault could be no more placed on him than it could you. Did he wonder as he waited for you, whether you would blame him for the duty in which he owed the world protection from people like Suguru? Where he would always be the one to know what it was like to take away the life of his best friend, did he worry about how you would look at him once you knew? Did you confirm his fear when you fell away from him? For a time, did Satoru bemoan the physical loss of Suguru and wonder if he would have to do the same for you when you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes anymore? Satoru might have been the one who made you something akin to a widow, but Suguru’s choices and decisions were what put the two of you here, who really held responsibility for the damage inflicted on the two people he had valued most.

You squeezed Satoru a little tighter and then tilted back some so you could peer into his face.

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, shaking your head at him when he opened his mouth to protest, “at least not to me.” A weak smile pulled at your lips as you did your best to reassure him and the spasming of his grip at your waist. You didn’t have the energy to explain to him the depths of emotion that swirled around in your head. How you didn’t blame him, but regretted the situation Suguru thrust the two of you in. How you would never leave him to carry this alone, but that you would need time before looking at him didn’t make your heart throb with painful memory and imagination. Or how the two of you would be forever connected by the loss of someone so important to each of you in vastly different ways, but that you wanted nothing more than to flee from his presence now.

So you moved away from him, trailing a hand down his arm because you could and because you didn’t know what else to do for him. You kept stepping back, already turning to retreat back the way you came and ready to seek solace in the privacy of your room. To do what, you weren’t sure. To cry, you guessed. To distract yourself enough that you didn’t replay every single second of the last few years over and over in your head so you could pick every word and touch between you and Suguru apart. Whether that was for the sake of your own memory or to try and figure out that which couldn’t be solved was unbeknownst to you. In the depths of your grief, maybe you would wonder what the last moments were like for Suguru. Did he think of you? Consider what he had done to you and to Satoru? What were the last words to come out his mouth? Were they for you or for—,

You whirled around from your spot halfway back to the lounge door and caught sight of Nanami placing a heavy hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“Did Suguru say anything to you?” Your voice carried out clearly on the emptiness of the night, but Satoru didn’t turn in your direction, nor did he hardly move. “Did he…did he have anything for you to tell me?”

Satoru was still until he eventually twisted his head towards you just enough so he could look at you from the corner of his eye. They were guarded, maybe the slightest bit afraid, and you held your breath in anticipation.

“No.”

You deflated and were unsure how to feel about his answer. You had hoped, thought, that maybe having Suguru’s last words for you would bring about some relief for the burning heartache that had started at some point in the last hour—the last couple of years—but you had also been hesitant to receive one more thing to occupy the scant emotional bandwidth you had left for everything that Suguru was. It would be one more thing to keep you up at night. On the other hand, the fact that your lover had left the world with nought an expressed thought or word for your condition left a blistering bitterness to swell within you. Insignificant were you not, but maybe to Suguru, in his last moments on Earth, you were to him. And that thought was enough to tip you into the realm of excess, surefly filled and overflowing with enough contemplating and pondering and general overthinking to last the rest of your life.

So you turned away from Satoru and Nanami and walked back through an empty lounge and out the door from which you came earlier in the evening. The night was still dark and devastated but relatively silent, the noise of utter ruin having mostly ceased. But your shoes still scuffed against stone and tiny pebbles skittered away from under feet, skipping and tumbling with every step you took.

Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.

——————————————

“You were lying.”

Nanami’s tone was no more judgemental than it was inquisitive, but nothing about him seemed to press Satoru for answers that he wasn’t yet ready to give—or understood himself. He did lie. He wouldn’t deny that. But under no circumstances was he prepared to tell you what his best friend, your other half, had told him in the minutes before his death. They replayed tortuously in his head as he tried to make sense of it all. Satoru would have to speak them to you one day, and the fear of doing so brought the same panicked apprehension he had felt as he watched you try and hold yourself together as he had told you about Suguru’s death. As he waited for you, he had imagined every which way your face could have pinched and drawn up in enraged despair as you threw yourself against him to beat as his chest, to wail in his arms as you cursed his existence before finally retreating in a similar fashion as how you did just moments ago, but perhaps with less acceptance and a goodbye that would prove final in its anger. You hadn’t reacted that way, of course. You had fallen against him in sorrow and with a barely concealed need for comfort as much as you were ready to give it to him, and he had been filled with desperate relief at the feeling of you and how you hadn’t shied away from him. But maybe that was to come later one day, after Satoru spent time considering what was said and implied by Suguru’s words, and felt brave enough to share them with you. Surely then you wouldn’t have the same patience for him as you did tonight.

“I was.” That was all he said back to Nanami, refusing to elaborate on the specifics of something he owed to you and couldn’t yet come to terms with himself. Thankfully, Nanami simply nodded and glanced in the direction of your departure.

“I’ll check on her in the morning,” he offered, betraying no emotion or thought to the idea, but Satoru had a feeling it had something to do with how you had done the same for Nanami when, a few years ago, death had come for Jujutsu High and taken Haibara with it. Neither man said anything else as they departed, Nanami heading your direction towards staff lodging and Satoru leaving to walk aimlessly along crumbling corridors. His head spun, and he remembered.

Satoru had heard Suguru before he came upon him, dragging his shoulder against stone walls and mumbling nonsense to himself until it came to an abrupt halt as he spotted Satoru a ways in front of him. It was painful to take in the sight of his best friend, covered in blood and viciously mangled, but looking so achingly familiar. But the ensuing conversation, a mindless back and forth of words that meant much and nothing at all proved that the person in front of him wasn’t the same as he remembered.

“Tell me, do you have any last words?” Satoru had asked, a simple opportunity given to the man sitting in front of him, yet he cursed the universe for his lot in life, the unfairness of it all bittering the taste of his mouth and landing heavy in his chest as Suguru spoke back to him.

“She's yours now, it would seem.”

Satoru couldn’t ever say he had been rendered speechless before, but he choked on his own spit as he recoiled from Suguru’s words. He grit his teeth as he felt his face scrunch in anguished rage.

“God, Suguru! You can’t just—that’s not something you—!” What came out in a fit of bewilderment was followed by more jumbled sputtering before Satoru could mind his tongue again. “You don’t just say that! You can’t pass ownership of her like an object. Not like this, not ever!”

Suguru just chuckled, out of breath and clearly fading, and leaned his head back against the wall. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“It does!” Satoru shouted, panic and desperation lacing his tone,“She doesn’t want me! She would want you to come back, to make amends and live your entire life trying to repair what you broke. You don’t get to decide our future for us!”

“Consider it a dying wish,” Suguru said calmly, and Satoru wondered if anything else someone could ever say would hurt as badly as that (a picture of you flashed unbidden in his mind).

“She would rather have you—I would rather have you!”

“You haven’t exactly said ‘no’, Satoru.”

His words pinned him in place and Satoru was stunned into silence. His friend’s dying delusions were no better for his psyche than considering what Suguru implied would mean for him. Satoru had never let himself think so far, to entertain a thought about his best friend’s girlfriend in any other way except strictly platonic. Sure, no one could ignore your beauty, and a couple times Satoru had silently envied what Suguru had and he did not—intimate companionship, physical comfort and pleasure, and the eagerness for a future with someone, all that could be had with a friend but on levels not belonging to such a term. However longed for, it was never with you strictly imagined, just a simple yearning for something of his own.

“No,” Satoru managed, “not like this. Not without her consent, and certainly not in place of you being alive.”

Suguru made a motion similar to a shrug, or what one would look like if half of his shoulder wasn’t missing. “If you insist.”

“Do you not have anything to say to her? To leave her with?” Satoru beseeched on your behalf, hoping Suguru would tell him anything else to pass on to you other than his attempt to give you to him. Satoru would get his last words with Suguru, and it was all the same too much and not enough. He wondered if you would feel the same.

“What’s there to say?” Suguru said, his voice light, as if the discussion was more about the weather or something else equally mundane. “‘I’m sorry’ seems pointless without action behind it, and there will be none. ‘I love you’ is nothing she hasn’t heard before, and I would call into question the truthfulness of those words in light of my actions if I were her.” It was then that Satoru finally spotted a hint of regret and sorrow on Suguru’s face, but it disappeared only a moment later. “She would not want me as I am now, and there is no going back. The damage resulting from my choices is something the two of you will wrestle with, both individually and together, I suppose. Hence, why I said what I did.”

Satoru would laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn’t pain him so badly. Instead, he walked towards Suguru and dropped into a crouch to get eye-level with his friend. His head lolled toward him.

“Damn you for that, Suguru,” he said, “but you’ll always be my best friend.”

Shock fluttered over Suguru’s face before amusement wrinkled his eyes and a tired laugh shook his body. His eyes slid shut and as Satoru stood and willed his arm to move, he desperately wished he could be anywhere else.

-----------------------------------

I hope I didn't ramble too much and that this made sense! The next chapters shouldn't be as thought/monologue heavy. I can't promise an update timeline, but I will do my best to not take too long. I am writing in the breaks between chasing my toddler around, so patience is appreciated:)

Cross-posted on ao3 as well.

Thanks!

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x reader #geto x you #geto x reader

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serasfanfiction · 2 months

Text

CW: blood and mentions of gore. Alastor being Alastor and never let us forget he's in Hell for a reason.

Lucifer stared at his bed. Took stock of himself. Realized he was too wound up and any attempt at chasing sleep would futile.

He ran a hand down his face as he groaned. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his nice, soft comforter and to fall into the forgetfulness of sleep, but with the weight of his new little accessory, he knew his sleep would be nothing like forgetful.

Glancing out the window, he could see the first hints of what passed for daytime in Hell. It was so late, evening had transitioned into early morning.

He frowned in distaste. He had stayed up all night talking with Alastor. Yeah, yeah, they had been talking business, but he knew what it could look like from the outside. It didn't help that Alastor had been helpful. He had an eye for reading people and getting a basic feel for their character at the drop of the hat. Lucifer didn't have to imagine very hard to know it had gone a long way towards helping him lure in his victims.

The question remained: Was the King of Hell going to allow himself to become another one of this serial killer's victims? The idea didn't leave a much better taste in his mouth than the time currently glowing back at him from his bedside table.

This was a shining example of why he didn't interact with sinners anymore.

Leaving through his door, Lucifer made his way downstairs. Early morning it might have been, but there was still some time before the other hotel residents started filtering down. Everything was quiet in a way that held the promise of noise, if only one caught it at the right time.

It felt lived in in a way the palace hadn't in years.

Knowing he was going to actually encounter people at some point led his feet unto the kitchen. As it turned out, Lucifer Morningstar actually liked to cook. He had found it to be a great stress reliever. Perhaps it was because the urge to create was always just below the surface. Perhaps it was an innate desire to make people happy. Whatever it was, throughout most of his marriage and while he was still interacting with the Sins and Ars Goetia, he could often be found working in whatever area was set aside for meal prep. It was something he'd been teased about, but no one had complained about his food, yet.

As things began to fall apart, as he lost faith in humanity and began to withdraw from everyone and everything, there had been less and less opportunities to fall back on the practice. He didn't necessarily need to eat and he didn't want to waste food when there was no one to make it for.

Making toys, especially duck themed ones, had been a secondary fixation. When his marriage had reached the point that not even even trying to keep up appearances for Charlie's sake could hold things together (tenuous as that had been from the start), it had felt like making the toys had been the only thing he was good at anymore so he had become, well, a little obsessed.

Here, now, in the hotel built from his daughter's dreams and the hard work of the hotel's residents, he had been feeling the urge to give into the impulse to try his hand at cooking again. The stress of his new accessory seemed like it was going to finally be the thing that pushed him to do it.

The kitchen was empty, as to be expected. It was also as well stocked as he'd left it. Upon moving in, Lucifer had taken one look at what the others had been living off of up to that point and had put his foot down immediately. Where before it had looked like the pantry of a bunch of young adults who had just moved out and hadn't quite figured out how nutrition worked, with the odd exception, now it had a much more healthy variety of foods. Some of it came from various rings throughput Hell, imported through Lucifer's connections. Some of it came straight from Earth, those through Ozzie's connections.

Lucifer had seen various residents taking advantage of the wider variety of offerings, but he still held it as a victory the one time had come in to find their resident radio celebrity cooking. When pressed, Alastor had replied that he was currently putting together a shrimp gumbo, with the preparation of the roux being just the way his mother had made it. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic and in a good mood because he had shared it with the rest of the hotel's residents.

Lucifers hands knew what to do, even though he didn't have a larger plan in mind other than 'make breakfast foods.' This sort of approach often led to way too much food being made, but he was sure they'd eat it all eventually.

As the hour progressed, foods such as muffins, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and a few pre-made breakfast tacos took shape. Fruits had been cut up and placed in dishes so that anyone interested could take their pick.

He was just finishing up the yogurt and turning around to place it with the rest of the hoarde when he abruptly became aware that someone was standing just inside the doorway. Startled, Lucifer yelped, jumping, and incidentally dropping the yogurt. It was only pure instinct (and a little magic) that kept it from hitting the floor and going everywhere.

He placed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his rabbitting heart. "Oh my Father, don't scare me like that. I could have set you on fire!"

Which he had done to multiple people who'd startled him in the past. Purely on accident, of course.

Husk stared back at him, watching. His fur was unusually messy. The bags under his eyes were particularly pronounced. His shoulders were hunched and and he was gripping his arms in a posture that screamed discomfort.

All in all, he looked how Lucifer felt.

The angel's brows furrowed in concern. As he set the yogurt back to rights, he asked, "Are you alright? Because - please don't be offended - you look like shit."

Husk's ears twitched at the observation. He glanced around, as if he was searching for something or someone. When he didn't find whatever - whoever? - he was looking for, he said, gruffly, "He's not a good person. Making deals with him is dangerous."

Lucifer blinked, for a moment not comprehending what the cat demon was talking about. All at once, he realized that he'd gotten so into cooking he had actually managed to forget his deal.

His near jerk reaction was to pretend he had no clue what Husk was talking about or to laugh and make light of it. As the immediate panic of the fact that keeping secrets in this place was apparently impossible wore off, the blonde was able to pick up something else in Husk's demeanor: worry.

Lucifer's expression softened at what appeared to be a genuine warning from someone who had been burned by Alastor before and was trying, in his own way, too keep someone else from doing the same. It was especially meaningful, as Lucifer doubted Alastor would be thrilled if he heard Husk warning a potential mark.

Was this what Charlie saw when she looked at their people? Husk wasn't innocent by any means. His hands were bloody both in life and in death, and it would be so easy to be blinded by that, but look deeper and there appeared to be a too big heart under it all.

It was a stark reminder that not everyone in Hell was a total lost cause, even if the sinner wasn't seeking redemption.

Lucifer placed the yogurt on the table with the rest of the food. Feeling the need to reassure Husk, but not wanting to tell the whole truth, he explained, "I'm only paying Alastor back for helping me with something I'm looking into. It's a one off thing."

Husk's deep sigh indicated he found that far from reassuring. Lucifer remembered Alastor saying he dealt predominantly in favors and figured it probably wasn't. Hands tightening around his arms, he added, "Well, be careful. Charlie's a loud, messy crier when she's happy. I don't want to see what she's like if anything happens to you."

Lucifer resisted the urge to scoff at the idea Alastor truly posed him any threat in favor of: "Charlie cries when she's happy?"

When did that started? Since when?

Husk gave him a side look, some major judgement going on in that look. He still took blantent pity on him, more likely wanting to take the opportunity to change the subject. "She and Angel got into a tiff. She was happy when he forgave her."

Something about the way Husk said it made Lucifer suspicious there was more to that story, but Lucifer let it drop. "Aw, I'm glad they made up."

Husk grunted, clearly at the end of his tolerance for mushy talk. He reached over to the selection of food, snatching one up in repayment for his good services. As he was retreating out the door, Lucifer called over, "I appreciate the warning. I'm sorry we disturbed you last night."

Husk didn't respond, opting to make off with his prize before the conversation could devolve into anything more uncomfortable.

The conversation left him in a mood that was both uplifted and off balance. He wasn't able to fall back into the rhythm of cooking, which was perhaps for the best, as there was already more than enough food laid out. He didn't have to wait long before Vaggie - looking wide awake despite the early hour - and Charlie - much less put together - trickled their way in. Both were delighted by the spread of food that awaited them.

Angel, unsurprisingly, would not be done for several more hours, but there was more than enough goodies waiting for him.

Alastor, on the other hand, never made an appearance that day. Nor did he call in his favor.

He did not make an appearance the next day either.

By the third day, Lucifer was beginning to feel a little twitchy. It was a touch bit daunting, knowing one was on the menu, but having no clue how famished the host was. Not that he usually paid attention to the redhead's eating times. Alastor was one of the only members of the hotel that had his own private feeding grounds right in his own room. He could just as easily treat all of the Pride Ring as his hunting grounds, if he were in the mood.

Lucifer didn't think the little shit would starve himself so he could he could have a bigger menu when he did call in his favor. He wouldn't put it past him, either.

By day four, Lucifer was on the verge of putting the whole thing out of his mind, figuring that Alastor was just letting him stew for a bit. Spitefully, the blonde was refusing to give him another minute of his time until the redhead deemed to make himself present. He was also getting used to the weight of their deal and could go several hours without ever once thinking of it.

Which of course meant that's when Alastor gave the chain a little tug.

Lucifer froze mid step. He'd been on his way up to his room, inspired with the idea of a new duck he just couldn't wait to add to his collection. The hallway lit up with a green flash as the chain came into existence and then just as quickly disappeared.

Slowly, Lucifer looked behind him, irritation and panic heightening his senses. There was no one else in the hallway, a perk of being one of the only two residents on this floor. He didn't hear anyone on the landing below. Nothing to suggest that anyone had seen the flash. To his knowledge, Husk was the only one that would recognize Alastor's brand of chains the best. It was possible that even if someone had seen it, they might not have known what it was.

With a forced nonchalance, the blonde made the rest of his journey to his room. When the door was closed and locked firmly behind him, he leaned back, head lightly knocking against the wood as he rested against it.

Knowing something was coming and actually being prepared for it was always two very different things.

Regardless, he had made his bed. It was time to lay in it.

Before Alastor could get impatient and drag him out, Lucifer reached opened a portal to just into the deer demon's room. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he stepped through.

The room was warm, green and black flames flickering in the fireplace. Various lamps lit the room, casting the area into a golden gloom that countered the light of the flames. The unmistakable sound of music filtered out into the room from the radio on the shelf.

At the center of the room was Alastor himself. There was a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair was just a touch out of place.

It was almost enough of a distraction from the fact that the room looked ...bigger? Could it do that?

Alastor drew all attention back to himself with a clap of his hands. "Ah! Right on time. I do so love a date that's punctual."

Lucifer resisted the urge to cross his arms, feeling the posture might be seen as defensive. Instead, he opted for placing a hand on his hip as he casually sniped back with, "Do people want to date you? Willingly?"

The redhead laughed, waving it off. "Now now, none of that, my dear. You'll ruin the mood."

The blonde glared back. Confusion more so than anything else held his tongue. He had been expecting the violence of their previous encounter. Not... whatever this was.

Alastor crossed the room, bending at the waist ever-so-slightly and holding out his hand. The familiarity of the pose did little to prepare the shorter of the two for the question of, "Do you dance, your Majesty?"

"Er," Lucifer said, intelligently. "What?"

Alastor merely raised an eyebrow at him, hand never wavering. "Do you dance?"

Lucifer blinked, frown deepening in confusion. Was Alastor messing with him? Slowly, cautiously, and curious despite himself, he raised his hand to place it in the redhead's. "Yes, but not recently." When had been the last time he'd danced? He didn't think he'd done so since it had been announced that he and Lilith were expecting a child. They had gone out to celebrate that very night. It had been a good night.

He cleared his throat, banishing the memory. "Um, I think the waltz," at least he thought that was what it was called. It had been a minute since he thought of it's name, "Was just becoming a thing at the time."

The redhead nodded. Grip firm, but gentle, he lead the smaller man out into the center of the room. Turning until they faced each other, Alastor guided Lucifer's free hand up to his shoulder, before resting his own hand in the proper position. Over on it's shelf, the radio changed channels, seemingly on it's own, until it landed on a more appropriate song.

Seamlessly, Alastor took them through the beginnings of what was unmistakably a waltz. Lucifer, having learned both rolls, was more surprised that he remembered the steps than he was to having been delegated to the following role.

Lucifer chuckled, a touch of nervousness making it through despite himself, as they made their way around the room. "Um, what are we doing?"

Alastor tsked, the response obvious. "Can't you tell, you Majesty? We're dancing."

Clearly. "Yes, but why?"

The redhead sent the blond into a impromptu spin, likely just to hear the latter yelp, before pulling him back in, just a touch closer than they had been before. "Because it's fun!"

Lucifer grumbled. Fun for Alastor, perhaps. Lucifer felt more like he was on a roller coaster with no clue where it was going. "You know how to do this sort of stuff?"

"Waltz made a bit of a come back during the 20s. I personally preferred dance that didn't require any physical contact, but it was good to know some for when I had a partner." The music changed, shifting to something a bit more upbeat. "Such as this little number."

Before Lucifer knew it, Alastor was guiding them through what was called the 'Fox trot.' "Not as fun as the Charleston, mind you, but still entertaining."

It didn't escape the King of Hell which role he was being taught. "And can you teach from the following role?"

"Ha ha!" Alastor's look was knowing. "Perhaps next time. Always have to leave them wanting more."

Well, two could play at that game.

The blonde exerted enough strength to steal control of the dance, pulling, spinning, and then forcing his taller dance partner into a dip. The radio screeching with static was the only sign of Alastor's alarm at his situation. The new angle brought their faces significantly closer together. Grin sly, Lucifer drawled, "You never know, you might giving up a little control sometimes."

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, smile all teeth. "Sounds dreadful, really. How do you stand it?"

The blond rolled his eyes, but let the little shit up anyway. The music started up again as the Alastor set himself to rights, drawing Lucifer's attention to the fact that the radio seemed far too in tune with their dance to be coincidence. "You can control radios?"

"I'm not called the 'Radio Demon' just because I prefer the medium." To demonstrate, the little device cycled through various channels, stopping briefly on a few here and there (a news channel, a cooking show, a top hits countdown), before settling on a jazz station. The dance they feel into was more freeform, than anything structured. "Why, they're practically an extension of myself!"

Oh, and there was a terrifying thought, the blond thought to himself. Even more reason never to put one if his room.

For the first time, it suddenly occurred to Lucifer that something was missing from Alastor's person. He'd only seen it during their first meeting, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen it at all. He wasn't sure, but it had seemed like it was permanently attached to the redhead's hand at the time. It hadn't seemed like an ordinary walking stick, what with the power it had been giving off.

Glancing around the room, he didn't see it anywhere. "By the way, where's that microphone of yours? I haven't seen it in a while."

Alastor went rigid. The music abruptly cut off, dousing the room in a frigid silence.

Lucifer looked up at him, intuiting he'd stepped on a hornet's nest, but not certain why. "Um, Alastor...? You okay there-- Whoa! What are you doing??"

Alastor had abruptly dropped both hands to Lucifer's waist. Using his new grip, he effortlessly lifted the small king. Somehow crossing the room in two steps (and furthering the theory he was messing with the room somehow), he just as abruptly dumped Lucifer onto his desk. Papers and a pen went flying to the floor with little care where they landed.

Lucifer caught himself before he fell over and potentially knocked his head against the wall. He had been sat down so that his seat wasn't precarious, but his legs were dangling off the side. Alastor was standing between them, crowding him. The grip on his waist slid down to his hips in bruising holding pattern. Gone was the easy, playful mood of the dance, now replaced with something near manic.

Cautiously, Lucifer pushed himself up. He didn't dare attempt to reciprocate any touch. "Alastor?"

This close, he could see the way the deer demon's composure was likely being held together by the threads he's stitched himself up with. Something was clearly wrong, but it was just as clear that Alastor did not want to talk about it.

Indeed, the Radio Demon, because that was indeed who was currently out to play, called forth the chain that represented their deal, pulling on it just enough to drag the King of Hell a touch closer to the edge of the desk by his neck. "I think it's time you uphold your end of our deal."

Getting the feeling all of this was to divert attention from whatever might have happened to the microphone (and a seemingly extreme one, in his opinion), Lucifer raised his hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. "Easy there, big boy. If you didn't want to talk about it, you could have just said so."

When the redhead failed to respond, the blond sighed. It took little effort to bring about the change, since he had done it a couple times before. The sitting position was much nicer on the tail, but the hat wasn't so great with the ears. This thought had just crossed his mind, when said hat was being lifted off his head. He had enough time to spy a shadow tentacle spiriting it off towards the chairs near the fireplace, when a nose buried itself in his hair.

His ears twitched at the tickling sensation of his hair moving around them. He made a face at the sound of a deep breathe being taken and wondered what it was with this guy and smelling him.

As if he could hear the question, Alastor said, "As I thought, your scent changes." He sounded a little too delighted for all the wrong reasons with this information.

Lucifer endured it, as it seemed that the redhead was calming down from whatever had set him off. He made a mental note to ask about the microphone at a later time. At present, he was more concerned about the mood of the person who was about to sink their teeth into him. He could almost feel the way that Alastor's whole body was slowly relaxing with each breathe he took. Could just barely feel the thumb of one of the hands still on his hips rubbing back and forth through the fabric of his pants.

Alastor continued the journey down from the top of the head to where the ears would sit on a human. Lucifer was aware that this was all about scenting - that Alastor's sense of smell likely was as enhanced at a real deer's - but he couldn't quite hold back a hitch in his breathe.

It was about the point when he felt nudging his neck that he remembered that bucks could leave scents behind to mark their territory just by rubbing their foreheads against things.

Lucifer's hand took hold of one of the little red ears that had started this whole mess in the first place, just shy of the point of pain.

He could feel Alastor's smile against his skin, just above the collar his coat. "You promised no retaliation," he admonished.

Lucifer growled. "I said you could have your fill of my blood. I never agreed to be your property."

The redhead shrugged, but didn't repeat the motion. Likely, the scent had already been left and the damage already done. The blonde resolved to make certain to remove all hints of this little encounter the first chance he got. He released the captive appendage, the poor thing flicking itself as Alastor assessed any damage.

Alastor finally pulled away, giving his temporary captive a once over in consideration. As if merely commenting on the weather, he suggested, "You should take off your coat and shirt."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending for several seconds. When it sunk in, he sputtered, flushing. "What? Why would I do that?"

Alastor leaned forward, finally releasing the blonde's hips and moving them to the desk to brace himself on either side of the before mentioned hips. "I'm not picky, but clothing doesn't taste that good," he explained, still in that matter of fact voice. "This is also likely to get messy."

Lucifer's whole body was frozen. He didn't think in that moment he remembered how to breathe. The inherent intimacy of their position and the remembered violence of their previous encounter was wreaking havoc on his body's responses. It didn't know if it wanted to get away or to lay down and take what it was receiving.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him outside of a hug or chaste pat on the hand that his signals were getting muddled at a time like this? Even more pathetically, it wasn't even getting confused for sexual signals! Was he really so touch starved he was enjoying being manhandled by a known psychopath who enjoyed playing with his meals?

Something hot and ugly rose in his chest. Survival instincts told him it wasn't safe to look at at the feeling in front of such a predator. It was a doomed endeavor, however. They were too close and Alastor was too good at reading people. Lucifer knew from the moment Alastor's smile widened, every single fang on display as he nearly salivated at the sight. That he could smell the blood in the water.

Lucifer forced himself to ignore it. Force it down and smoother it. Dealing with this revelation wasn't for here and now, in this sort of moment, where any weakness was a weapon Alastor could and would use against him. His fingers shook with minute tremors as he brought them up to pull off his coat.

Alastor backing off enough to let Lucifer remove his upper cloths felt like coming up for air. Being physically exposed had never bothered him. He had long since made peace with the way angelic, alabaster skin gave way to blackened, demonic skin along his arms. His beauty was unquestioned, even tens of thousands of years after his fall from his father's favor. A heavenly creature might have been repulsed by the unavoidable evidence of the taint of Hell, but no sinner, hellborn, or demon had ever blinked twice.

Alastor took it all in as more and more skin was revealed. Each piece of clothing sent off to join his hat. There was no heat to his gaze, something Lucifer found himself unreasonably thankful for. He wasn't certain he could have handled that on top of everything else.

He thought he might have caught a glimpse of appreciation, but he had little time to dwell on it as one of Alastor's hands took hold of his wrist, bringing it up to inspect his arm the way a butcher inspects a prospective slab of meat. Grip tightening and head tilting to the side, the Radio Demon clamped his teeth down and bit.

Lucifer hissed through his teeth, digging the claws of this free hand into edge of the desk. Those teeth drove in mercilessly, until they encountered what passed for bones in seraphim. Only then did they stop, pulling back and out. He shuddered when he felt the what could only be a sucking sensation. His arm would not be as ideal for drawing as much blood as Alastor would need to sate himself. It would be likely he would need to bite down multiple times to accomplish his goal.

But Alastor did not bite down again. After several minutes, he pulled back, black and gold fluids dribbling down his chin.

Arm throbbing even as it knitted itself back together, Lucifer exhaled. He forced himself to focus, studying his attacker's expression.

The redhead's gaze never left his arm, expression calculating. He seemed to be waiting for something and Lucifer blamed the pain for addling his brain that it took as long as it did for him to figure out why.

"Are you trying to see how fast I heal?!"

Alastor watched the skin knit back together until there wasn't a single trace of damage. Instead of looking frustrated, he seemed to only be delighted. Alastor turned his head until they were eye to eye. An unholy and fathomless hunger stared back at Lucifer, and it was all he could do not to look away, even if his captive wrist didn't allow him any retreat. Alastor's free hand came up to run a single finger down from Lucifer's collar bone to navel, pressing just short of hard enough to draw blood.

"I want to slice you open and gorge myself on your organs." Alastor's horns extended and he gained another foot in height, loosing his grip on his demonic self a little. "I want to see how many times I can devour them, watch each and everyone one of them grow back, and then do it all over again." His hand slid back up, reaching around and grabbing a fistful of the short hairs at the base of Lucifer's skull. "You're the perfect meal."

Lucifer went limp just as Alastor yanked his head to the side, pulled on his captive wrist, and then sank his teeth into his neck. Sweat broke out across his skin in response to the pain as he was reduced in that moment to little more than a royal juice box.

There was no telling how long they'd be there. He had no gauge for how hungry Alastor was. Could only ride it out until the other was finished.

After a while, Lucifer hit a tipping point. He could feel himself going a touch floaty, detaching from the pain in the only way available to him. Without giving it much thought, his free hand rose up to run a hand through the hair mere inches from his face in something akin to a petting motion. His jaw finally relaxed and he was a little surprised he hadn't bitten his tongue off.

He barely noticed when Alastor finally withdrew his teeth, allowing the skin to begin to repair itself. Barely noticed when the tight grip on his wrist began to loosen. It took effort to focus, but the still odd feel of a tongue chasing the last drips of blood helped.

When he became aware of his body again, he noted that his spine wasn't thrilled with the position he had been forced into. Noted that the room had started to go cold (or as cold as Hell ever got) as the fire had gone out at some point. Noted the softness of the hair under his fingers.

He blinked as Alastor pulled away, shuddering as he fully came back to himself. His hand dropped away to rest back on the desk. His shoulder throbbed, but it had already stopped bleeding. As he glanced down at his chest, he noted that indeed the amount of blood that had been spilled would have made quite the mess.

Alastor hummed to himself contently, releasing his grip on both Lucifer's hair and wrist. From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the mess lingering on his chin as he stepped back away from the desk and the individual sitting on it. Despite the mess he'd made of the Devil, he himself had gotten away without a spot on his clothes.

Lucifer mustered up enough energy to glare at him. "Satisfied?"

Alastor's grin, partially hidden by the handkerchief, was lazy and bemused, some of that manic energy that always seemed to follow him calm for once. It was similar to the look he'd had that first night. "Oh, no, sire. I'm never satisfied, but I am full. Thank you ever so much for the meal."

Around Lucifer's neck, the green chain that was their deal came into being just long enough to shatter, signifying that their deal had been over. Alastor watched it go with something akin to remorse.

Lucifer himself didn't realize how much control over his own body he'd lost, how compliant it had made him, until the deal was complete. He breathed in deep, feeling the last of the fog fall away like the clouds parting. Slowly sliding off the desk, he waved a hand, using a bit of magic to clean up the blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw those shadow tentacles holding out his clothes. Wanting nothing more than to hide away from that butcher gaze, even just superficially, he reclaimed his clothes and dressed as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a hurry.

Once he felt as put back together as he was going to get, he turned his attentions back to the other occupant of the room. "Our deal is complete. I don't think I need to mention how beneficial it would be to you not to mention this to anyone?"

Alastor's whole posture was smug. "Oh, I'm happy to keep this little rendezvous to myself."

Lucifer refused to deign that with a response. Without so much as a goodbye, he spirited himself away with a wave of red smoke, just barely hearing, "How rude!" before the room disappeared.

Reappearing in his own room, Lucifer simply stood there for a long, long moment, blankly staring at nothing. Slowly, he sank to the floor, allowing his legs to finally give out under him. Everything that had happened over the last several hours crashed over him in a wave and he shuddered as it threatened to pull him back under.

In the mess of it all, he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible little thing Alastor had dragged into the light, even as he loathed himself for it.

Despite being surrounded by others. Despite his reunion with his daughter and the joy of creating new bonds with her. Despite the friendships he was slowly creating with the members of the hotel.

Despite all of it all, he was still lonely.

tbc

Part 7

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #the return of deer!lucifer #cw: blood #tw: blood #cw: mentions of gore #tw: mentions of gore #cw: alastor being alastor #cw: alastor is in hell for a reason #no but seriously wtf alastor #sorry for the delay in getting this out #i needed to do research

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