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punkscowardschampions · 2 years

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Casey & Janis Pt.2

Casey: [‘I don’t think I ever can’ as quietly but with uncertainty in the tone that the words don’t suggest because honestly we don’t know, never having had the chance to be that truly vulnerable on main, even with her because there was always this between y’all, but that barrier has gone now]

Janis: [‘there’s no rush’ because we’re not going to suggest that carrying on being unable to cry is healthy because we ourselves know it’s not and we only find it difficult to do, not to his level but there is no pressure for us to sort that or any problem in this moment, and we’re saying there’s time later, for all of it]

Casey: [‘unless-’ unable to stop himself starting that sentence but refusing to finish it because we don’t wanna talk or think about the possibility of going to prison rn, especially not rn]

Janis: [just repeating ourself, quietly but determinedly, like no, whatever happens, we’ll make what we want to happen, happen]

Casey: [‘I can’t’ in a literally childlike way with our quiet desperate sadness because the levels we cannot cope with even potentially being separated from you now, cannot be overstated]

Janis: [when all we can do is console you because we can’t say, as much as we want to, that it isn’t going to happen because we don’t know that, but we can optimistic about the reality of the situation ‘the further we get away from when it happened, the less likely it is’ because you’d call the police as soon as possible, when your injuries and memory of the whole thing were fresh, so we’re pretty sure it’s not happening but we would die before saying you’re 100% in the clear and then them to show up on the doorstep so]

Casey: [simply hugging her, no notes]

Janis: [‘we won’t let anything bad happen to you’ because we’re a team and if it came to it, we would do whatever we could to work it out ‘convince her to drop her statement if I had to’ bit rude of you to imply you’d threaten this girl in some way but nobodies perfect, can’t pretend you wouldn’t]

Casey: [we all remember when he pretended about the school therapist and Janis was ready, he was so touched about it so he obvs does too and so we’re smiling big and he shamelessly loves when she’s giving the energy of her teen self which that very much is]

Janis: [we’re likewise unrepentant so we’re 😏 back, shaking our head ‘nah, they don’t want the aggro, she got in some shit uni on clearance and they wanna get her gone as much as she wants gone, clearly’ speculating wildly but I’m sure that’s basically the gist]

Casey: [my boo says where’s the lie though and she’s not wrong because you’re gonna go to that shit uni and he’s not going into a cell and not to victim blame but I’m sure your parents know what you’re like hun ‘have to give us all your aggro then’ in the sauciest manner because flashbacks to everything they just did and how hardcore it was in the best way]

Janis: [and respectfully as possible here, actual victims of really vicious assaults, sexual and otherwise, rarely see justice so you know, everyone knows your odds aren’t good; but in the now we are raising a brow at you and grinning ‘if you think you can handle it’]

Casey: [exactly that, I don’t blame you for thinking the worst boy because Ian and Jimothy are your fam and that’s how y’all do but realistically it was never gonna be as bad as you’re catastrophizing whilst panicking, but ANYWAY, raising his own brow ‘you gonna make me prove it again?’ like okay we can do round 2 gal]

Janis: [and it shows you aren’t a raging misogynist because you weren’t like oh well, the law don’t give a shit about you anyway haha bye, like you very much know it isn’t acceptable, you just don’t know how to stop yourself; making a hmm noise like maybe I am but we have to follow it with ‘there’s time’ like let’s not kill ourselves because I’m not going anywhere and also, really, no you don’t need to prove anything]

Casey: [mmhmm, he really could be but as much as he often tries to give it the full Ian he’s really not, speaking of, looking at her with all the love ‘I’ve not hurt you though?’ because it’s not remotely a lol bants/shameless saucy vibe if she can’t walk tomorrow to this boy]

Janis: [just shaking our head instinctively like no, then looking down at our various marks and amending ‘I loved it’ meaning there was nothing I didn’t want at the time, or regret now because it hurts too much ‘you?’ because we also care of course]

Casey: [now we know she’s genuinely okay we can give it the ‘sure?’ as soon as she shakes her head and touch her as if we simply must check you don’t have any internal injuries gal and it’s honestly giving the exact energy of when she was in the bath and he was inspecting her cut feet + the soft but determined vibe of whenever they take care of each other except really hot because duh, he’s just that bitch, can’t be tamed ever and obvs he’ll use his thumb during said v saucy touching to give the same energy as when he does the bottom lip thing ‘mutual too, that’ because he also ofc loved it and has no regrets whatsoever]

Janis: [opening your mouth to say whatever you were going to say in response but you simply cannot, just 🥺 at you ‘can do it again then’ trying to be hilariously casual about it for the bants but the reality of it isn’t anything near casual and there’s no hiding from that]

Casey: [just dying over that face even as he’s trying to do an oh so casual nod to match her vibe ‘but I should kiss it better first’ love the enthusiasm and that you don’t give a fuck about the car gymnastics you’re gonna have to do as per]

Janis: [doing our bit to move up so he has room and also so we can watch him shamelessly ‘you’re unreal’]

Casey: [‘you’ because always we must and like I’m so soz that’s why I had no chill and could’ve hurt you v much and now have to fix it, SO much soft kissing down her entire body basically before he even gets to the task at hand, also gotta since nursing her is the entire vibe here, before giving said task the same energy]

Janis: [when you wanna keep looking at him but at the same time this is so tender that you literally have to hide in your hair because you cannot cope ‘s’for you’ barely getting this out for how overwhelmed we are yet again but it’d be audible still]

Casey: [we’re all just overwhelmed and dying but also living for it on this day, nbd hun just giving you another first here like it’s nothing because can’t tell me his gf was getting this treatment but here this boy is giving it his all rn, SO slow, SO soft]

Janis: [‘I want this so bad’ ‘cos can’t even bring ourselves to past tense it, even when it’s to signify how long we have, in this moment]

Casey: [signing instead of speaking so he doesn’t have to stop these antics even for a sec ‘I know’ but meant in the way she said it before when he couldn’t get his words out cos hard same truly, couldn’t want this more atm or have wanted it for longer and be in total awe it’s really happening finally]

Janis: [doesn’t need to be said that our appreciation right now is beyond blatant, ‘I don’t wanna stop’ like right now, obviously, but we clearly mean beyond this moment]

Casey: [going a bit harder than the insane levels of deliberately gentle he was being to show her that he doesn’t either, even though it’s as blatant from how into it he is and his own reactions to every one of hers]

Janis: [‘or go home’ in a can’t not say that involuntary reaction to you going harder because we can’t help it, like we can’t help the way we’re pulling your hair now, bit of payback]

Casey: [yet again signing because defs not gonna stop to speak after that ‘I’d live in this car with you’ less cheesy and cliche than you’re my home but essentially what we’re trying to say]

Janis: [just nodding vigorously like okay, that’s what we’ll do, no flaws in this plan because we are incapable of nor do we want to think about them right now tah]

Casey: [‘you’re everything I want’ because true, got what we need right here and there is nothing else, soz not soz real world]

Janis: [‘have me’ scratching down the back of his neck and across his shoulders]

Casey: [when you were already trying to do the most because of what she said but then what she does makes you involuntarily do even more because obvs here for it]

Janis: [can’t help but acting feral at the moment, it’s been too damn long in the making]

Casey: [mhmm, and lowkey y’all are always gonna be a bit feral for each other, it’s just who you are, hence him saying ‘cum for me’ as the first words he’s actually spoken since he started this endeavour and the way his voice sounds making that easy to do in itself, nevermind everything else that’s occurring]

Janis: [exactly, there’s zero chance we’re not giving you exactly what you asked for, basically on command because before round two even started we were already too turned on, it’s just as standard; despite the fact we’re literally shaking, moving unsteadily back down frantically so we can kiss you and taste ourself, making a bigger mess of your face than we already did]

Casey: [yep and he was already equally as turned on then too which is why as the kiss is happening, unrepentantly so is him instigating their 2nd hook up, there’s never any recovery time ever, basically pulling a kanye here and not even letting her finish that orgasm before he’s trying to give her, and himself, another one, oh lads]

Janis: [we are biting your lip so hard when you hit it fully, LOOKING at you because our eyes are so wide, moving against you with all the energy we somehow have left here but letting you control it, eventually letting go of your bloody lip to be in your ear like you can’t miss any sound I make, not even the tiny ones that are happening as I breathe ‘are you gonna cum inside me again, Case?’]

Casey: [I don’t care if y’all are in the middle of nowhere, this boy is being too damn loud, stop it sir, but don’t ever, a weaker man would all but cum immediately at her saying that, but he’s simply too extra ‘you gonna make me bleed again?’ proud of you for getting that sentence out, despite the lengthy punctuation of moans and heavy breathing happening]

Janis: [still in this ear, could probably make your ears bleed from the way we’re likewise being too loud, convinced a car going past would hear yous, never mind if a person out walking did; but obviously we’re latching onto your earlobe, not hard enough to break skin yet but hard enough to get a reaction ‘you wanna bleed for me?’]

Casey: [giving you such a reaction she only would’ve not fallen off this car seat fully as a result of it because he would’ve stopped her from doing so ‘owt you’ve ever wanted me to, that’s what I wanna do’ cos everything and anything rn and always tbh]

Janis: [a lowkey evil laugh about it because the energy of that being anything and everything cannot be overstated and we both know it ‘you’re so fucking mine’ before we do bite you hard enough to make this blood trickle down your neck, tracing it with our tongue and then letting you taste it from us]

Casey: [doing exactly the same shit back to her because you’re mine too and that’s the easiest way to signify it without having to speak which he clearly cannot thanks to how hot we found that, don’t like casually remove or swallow an earring though boy, that move is harder to navigate with a pierced ear]

Janis: [it is the shit we do like though so you simply have to ‘I’m biting every inch of you’ with the same energy of it taking you so long to get that out because of everything else you are feeling and doing but we’re determined, taking your dominant hand and bringing it to us, biting the inside of your wrist and being able to make eye contact while we do]

Casey: [sinking his teeth into her shoulder hard in perfect contrast to how soft he was being not very long ago, because get you a man who’ll do both, we love to see it]

Janis: [frankly obsessed, we switch between both energies with ease, the way y’all always go 0-60 whatever the conversation, just natural, baby]

Casey: [you two do amuse me]

Janis: [never mind it’s the middle of the day here, wherever you are lmao]

Casey: [at least he isn’t standing outside the car doing it or y’all aren’t doing it via the boot like some of the actually mental positions I read about on a list, they’re like if you’re in the middle of nowhere, pop off, I’m like okay huns but also maybe don’t]

Janis: [you definitely also need it to be night time to be getting away with that, or keen to be seen, which, right now, isn’t the vibe, we don’t care but it ain’t the kink of it all lol]

Casey: [there’s brazen and then there’s silly and just asking for trouble, no thank you]

Janis: [what’s brazen enough for now is how messed up you are both gonna be from this sesh, purely physically]

Casey: [thank god it’s like Jan/feb time rn so y’all will have layers, cos no sane person would let you in to look at puppies looking absolutely feral as hell]

Janis: [how tragic, no puppies for you heathens]

Casey: [have to go on a hilarious shopping trip to buy scarves if you’re ever done hooking up with each other]

Janis: [clearly not gonna be content to stop until your bodies basically force you to and you get to have that bomb sleep that would have you almost as shook like what because never happens]

Casey: [you were exhausted after the first go so I’m sure that’ll happen after this one, enjoy it lads cos yeah, unexpected and iconic, as everything has been on this day]

Janis: [when it probably will be a police officer who wakes you up ‘cos you’re just on the side of the road and the car you aren’t in would look abandoned until they see two people in this one, I hope you had time to find something to use as a blanket/got some clothes back on so you aren’t naked because 1. Just embarrassing but more importantly 2. We don’t want you to get in actual trouble and if you’re not doing illegal tings, they just have to tell you to move on so we will have to say you had enough wherewithal to get cosy and less shamelessly exposed before collapsing; the way we would just shoot you the least obvious to anyone else ‘let me speak’ look and take over the situation like we’re not a bit disorientated by that mad sleep and everything before it, I think we were in his car so getting out to be like yeah we’re heading off now lads, bye then]

Casey: [absolutely must be kind enough to not let y’all get arrested for indecency because you’ll shit yourselves hard enough when the police appear as it is and it would take everything in him not to automatically kick off purely because he is that shooketh, thank god for Janis’ calming influence and the way she took control of that situation so it couldn’t escalate]

Janis: [that’d be why we immediately jumped in at first because we’re basically thinking don’t incriminate yourself on the off chance they aren’t there for the ex situation of it and thank god we did because they aren’t so we haven’t accidentally made it worse for ourselves here, just having to get in your car and pull away, because they always watch until you’re gone, like fuck off]

Janis: Can pull over when we get [somewhere more in town that has a car park so it doesn’t look like we’ve just moved to another lay-by if they happen to follow us or go the same way] if you need

Janis: couldn’t exactly check on you or even say an in a bit with them breathing down our necks

Casey: I’m alright, might as well save stopping til we proper drop the car off

Janis: okay, keep driving then, surprise party stopping me feeling half asleep still anyway

Casey: [a cafe in town that we might have stopped in] does a shit brew anyway, be back at ours before you know if you feel knackered again by then

Janis: I don’t even know what time it is, like, if anyone will be about

Casey: [tell her when you’ve checked your car clock or phone and we’ll have to decide if we want anyone to be about so you lowkey can’t go in the gaff or if we’re gonna let it still be a time when nobody would be]

Janis: you must’ve called early this morning

Janis: feels like ages ago anyway, deffo time for a brew

Casey: didn’t feel it to us, must’ve been rowing with her since whatever time we got in the night before

Janis: would make sense

Janis: and I was catching Billie before she went to work, so it was early to be out

Casey: she can’t be ringing them, they’d have been for me ages ago

Janis: I don’t think so either

Casey: why don’t I feel loads more chuffed about it

Janis: you still did it, however much you do or don’t get in trouble for it off anyone

Casey: I had in my head you’d hate me for it

Janis: sorry

Janis: at best I can be pissed off about it

Casey: I dunno about that, you ain’t been very pissed off so far, unless you’ve got a well funny way of showing us it, like 😏

Janis: funnys you

Janis: we were both trying not to think about it though, remember

Casey: not be forgetting none of that before I’m 90, and even then, don’t reckon it’s all that likely to just piss off out my mind

Janis: I hope its as burned into my brain as it feels

Casey: can do it over if you get scared it’s fading, only have to tell me

Janis: least you know me well enough not to put ask nicely 😏

Janis: only get one first time though

Casey: and you know I could get you to ask however I like

Janis: you’re gonna make me miss you now, are you

Casey: fuck being the dickhead missing you on my own when I could make you pull over instead

Janis: I get it, you want to give ‘em something better to see than 😴

Casey: I wanna see you, but I get it, there’s a massive risk he could recognise your face from out a magazine, looked like the sort who’d be a fan of you and the makeup they have you selling

Janis: sure you’d need under-eye concealer if you worked as hard as the boys in blue 🙄

Janis: I thought you wanted to get home, get the kettle on

Casey: gives his own meaning to bent copper that lad, tah for keeping us away from him, well handy you don’t fancy sharing with nobody

Casey: it’s the less thick idea, but I don’t want to, I never would do when the other one’s getting to have another look at you without needing to stop at the shop and buy my own copy of your latest issue first

Janis: can’t say you didn’t look cute, even if you ain’t meant to say stuff like that no more, so I’ve heard

Janis: I want to see you too, not to have a go though

Casey: who were it told you that 😏

Casey: see me then

Janis: [when it would next make sense to, pull this car over again]

Casey: [love y’all for keeping it extra 5ever because just gonna kiss her immediately as if it’s been a thousand years]

Janis: [we know that that was a rude awakening at any rate but also much more of a headfuck than either of us are fully putting in words so you do need to take a sec and be together again for that alone, never mind the rest ‘alright?’ between kisses like you said it but I’m checking]

Casey: [‘now’ between kisses too because now he is ‘you?’ of course because he needs to check too]

Janis: [nodding, despite the fact this’ll probably make yous bump heads a little there ‘just fucking-’ still between all the kissing we’re doing as if you’re being timed here ‘-weird’ ‘cos there’s no word to describe this day so it may as well be totally ineffective]

Casey: [it goes without saying that when they do bump heads slightly he’s resting his forehead against hers, as always, cos it’s their thing, doing the kind of hug where he lifts her off the ground a lil bit with the intensity of it, still whilst non stop kissing the entire time ‘a headfuck’ honestly what a day, the best and worst]

Janis: [letting ourself be lifted fully by wrapping our legs around you briefly because we wanna hug you that hard back ‘meant to be sorting it’ and putting a finger on either side of his head, still resting our foreheads together, ‘cos we have no regrets about doing it but we’re slightly concerned our timing was a dick move of us]

Casey: [‘you are’ cos that bomb sleep cannot be argued with, he didn’t wake up once from a nightmare or angsting and thinking and yet again it goes without saying that everything that happened before meant he also wasn’t freaking out ‘you do’ like it’s a * because not the first or last time she’s calmed him down]

Janis: [‘long as you say so’ because we trust you to not only get what we’re saying here but not lie to us with your answer, so we’re gonna leave it, can’t help that it also sounds vaguely saucy]

Casey: [can’t help but 😏 because it does sound saucy but the EYE CONTACT we’re giving you is too so y’all are even, despite him actually doing it like yeah look I’m okay, it’s all okay]

Janis: [‘this what you meant by see me?’ equally 😏]

Casey: [‘your fault my voice has gone’ no lie detected but we’re just doing it for the reminders, likewise the reason we’re pulling her hair playfully like ugh I’m so mad at you lol]

Janis: [‘you got your hands, you got anything to say’ for the reminders of when you had to sign at us and the other obvious connotations there, checking your ear with our own as we say it]

Casey: [signing something like ouch for the pure pisstake because that ear touching she’s doing rn doesn’t hurt at all and we’re super into it actually factually, pressing down on where he bit her shoulder really hard with his own hand, duh]

Janis: [signing ‘baby’ back as if it is also a pure pisstake but it’s absolutely not and less so when you have us moving closer to you in reaction to the shoulder reminder]

Casey: [doing an OTT yeah poor me style pout purely for the bitten and bloody lip reminder as we pull her even closer and deliberately flash the wrist while we do]

Janis: [‘I’m so mean to you’ said way more like a fact than a oh no, I shouldn’t be, that it usually is, as we’re clearly opening the wound that has barely had time to heal on these lips again, kissing the blood between you]

Casey: [‘but you’re sorry’ said like they were saying sorry to each other right at the start before he even kissed her for the first time]

Janis: [‘you can make me be’ as much of an invitation as an acknowledgement]

Casey: [shamelessly touching her lower stomach like we’re not yet again out here in the world because appaz if you do it right, like between your belly button and the obvious you can hit the g spot from the opposite side]

Janis: [‘oh, what the fuck’ because we’re just like excuse me, how did you just do that, wrapping our arms ‘round your neck for safety as much as proximity here]

Casey: [a look like don’t mind me just using my hands to say what I wanna say as you suggested]

Janis: [moving one of your hands to between y’all, resting it gently on his crotch for a while before pressing more firmly, playing with the waistband like, I could too]

Casey: [fully grabbing her pelvis in response to when she presses her hand against him like ! because it’s even more the one than the hip so the article was telling me idk but if you say so huns, I’m just out here reading about all the sexy zones for a lady haha]

Janis: [my boo is a professional everyone; meanwhile you two are far from it, pushing and massaging his stomach as if it’s gonna have the same effect on him for a bit, purely to let you know we’re not over it ‘good thing we don’t technically need to run now’ with the we ain’t even gonna make it to this club energy]

Casey: [picking her up so he can kiss her stomach without having to fully get on the floor to do it, as if what you’ve chosen to do is any more subtle sir, because I don’t need to do research to know it’s an erogenous zone we’re all aware of that one, and because it gives I would carry you to safety if we had to, don’t worry, vibes]

Janis: [the noise we’re making paired with the way we’re clinging to you making us too adorable to deal with honestly like yes, please do, because he’s the one that actually needs protecting right now so it’s nice of you to show some vulnerability yourself without remotely having to be asked]

Casey: [what the article attractively referred to as the pubic mound is of course another one so slipping his hand under her waistband to massage that as is the crease of the thigh and the inner thigh so while you’re there, boy, it mentioned using ice cubes on that bit specifically and I had to cackle like oh imagine if y’all had been allowed to get that far]

Janis: [can definitely stop teasing yourself and actually get some skin on skin contact for this boy who is doing the most, even if you’re going super slowly and are using just the one finger for barely any pressure to start]

Casey: [pinching her on said thigh again like ! because we all know that’s so hot of you and he is dying already]

Janis: [looking over his shoulder and then behind you like no-one can see us, the police aren’t back, it’s all good, energy because you two aren’t even in a car yet so it’s even more blatant, good job you’re squashed together so you’d have to be really looking to catch all this indecency occurring because currently we are running our nail down you to truly try and kill you]

Casey: [the GASP and the lip bite so you know you absolutely have, trying to kill her back in every possible way now touching wise cos he’s already under that waistband anyway and always competitive and trying to get her too even when literally this close to dying himself]

Janis: [trying to go slow always gives way to fully going IN before too long because we’re unable to not be all over you, hence we’re kissing all over your neck and jawline as we do this, using our full grip, panting between the kissing and biting and sucking we’re doing ‘you’re right, I do want you to myself’]

Casey: [gal I’ve ended up learning about a spots and o spots and things I didn’t even know were a thing, but now I do, you better believe he’s hitting them and from what I’ve read she would simply pass away, I love that y’all could literally be anywhere rn doing all this nonsense, he’s definitely back at her throat as well, his fave place, giving it his full attention via also kissing and biting and sucking ‘I’m going nowhere’ cos the police aren’t coming sweetie and we shall never be parted from her again, nobody can force us to be]

Janis: [‘live inside me’ because we are losing our mind over this and are so fine with that ‘if they come back, don’t stop’ not feasible but not stopping us begging you like it is]

Casey: [when you can’t even properly get your ‘okay’ out with as much feeling as you want to because what are words rn, we’re basically existing on the most indecent noises only but it’s a necessary answer to both parts of what she said, never gonna stop under any circumstances, we’re living laughing loving too hard]

Janis: [‘why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner’ as we’re getting that close we’re the MOST frustrated]

Casey: [doing even more than the most to try and make up for the fact you haven’t been because too relatable on how frustrating that is atm ‘we’re just gonna have to forever’ like soz that’s how long I need to get over the lost time]

Janis: [spitting on our other hand and using both to maximise all we’re doing to you too right now because it is a must ‘when I’m not fucking you, I’m gonna be thinking about it’ like these are the only two states of being now]

Casey: [‘you’re mine, for the rest of your fucking life from here on’ because yeah agreed ‘and that’s as mutual as it gets’ could not be more yours forever gal and everybody knows it so]

Janis: [‘I couldn’t be anyone else’s if I tried, you’ve ruined me and I’m so fucking happy’]

Casey: [‘nor me, since the day I met you’ too true, kissing her so hard like the first time he did today because lowkey not over the fact we can]

Janis: [you know we have to cum, kissing you despite the insane amount of noise we have to make and all the things we are trying to say with no hope at being coherent because we are truly smashing our kisses into you in reply]

Casey: [gonna say you do at the same time, because I can and it’s nice and you haven’t yet, I don’t even need to say at this point he’s being exactly as feral about it]

Janis: [just here, trying to catch our breath and some composure, bringing our hands up and out of your pants to clean up the mess then leaving our mouth open and gesturing like gimme your fingers please]

Casey: [trying not to pass out and fall over honestly haha, but gotta do what she says every single time so, giving her each one individually for the sheer drama]

Janis: [you’re clearly leaning against a wall or a tree or one of the cars to have stayed up this whole time lads, but going in sucking every one of his fingers clean in an unnecessarily extra way because you haven’t done that yet so gotta show off your skills obvs, leaving the last thumb in your mouth and closing your eyes, content af]

Casey: [watching her do this too intently as usual, leaving that thumb in her mouth until we simply cannot deal any longer with how you look and have to whip it out and run it and the wetness across her bottom lip because it’s always the move ‘too cute, you’ as he always said it before and he hasn’t yet during this rewrite]

Janis: [opening your eyes to do a grumpy little face at him like hey ‘that’s mine’ and trying to chase it with our tongue and coax you back in with more licking and wrapping it ‘round said thumb]

Casey: [soz I gotta do the pouty lip thing cos of her grumps, try not to think of your husband because we know that’s really one of his signature moves, it’ll help that he says ‘you’re mine’ again with all the daddy energy of to do what I want with and I shall so no pouting thank you]

Janis: [if you’re thinking about it it’s not going to be for long soz, let the 😍 takeover]

Casey: [really going in sucking on her tongue rn like see I know best, it should be here, forget the thumb]

Janis: [always so into that move, drawing a heart on the roof of his mouth casually]

Casey: [‘changed my mind, you’re allowed to draw’ cos we all remember when he said she wasn’t cos she was turning into Jimothy in all the ways]

Janis: [‘and you’re allowed to tell me what to do right now’ because living]

Casey: [gonna say they were leaning on the car so he can sit her on the bonnet now, just for fun and some slight recovery ‘keep drawing on us then’ not specifying if we mean in a soft manner with a fingertip or harder with your nails or mouth, cos don’t wanna tell you what to do too much and stifle your creativity]

Janis: [when that’ll be cold compared to how overheated your body is so you’re shivering in both the literal and the saucy way at that sensation, holding our finger to said cold metal of this bonnet for a sec so we can use the cold to draw more hearts on you, anywhere there’s remotely a mark because so many at this point]

Casey: [do your own shiver and also draw your own heart but please do hers on her pulse point because when I was doing my skim read I read that bit where they were in the car and he was saucily measuring her pulse and shamelessly can and will steal it as it’s the same energy as her listening to his heartbeat, pop off and do it both on her neck and wrist this time though, why not, as you didn’t bite hers]

Janis: [‘it’s fast again’ because don’t need to tell us that honey, we’re too aware of the effect you’re having on us ‘what you gonna do to calm me down?’ and drawing a smiley face below his belly button with our nails this time like you better, I’m on edge, see]

Casey: [placing his own hand on her chest and taking a deep breath like we know she’ll just automatically copy cos gotta cheekily call you and ourselves out for doing so much of that earlier ‘close your eyes’ never not gonna sound saucy]

Janis: [you know we will, even if we have to grin at the call out with it ‘cos we’re always gonna, likewise closing our eyes, sat here in anticipation]

Casey: [leaving his hand on her chest but running his other along the car until it’s really cold and then stroking her face and back of her neck and everywhere we did during the ice cube moment for that reminder and because it would actually be calming like it is when my boo is genuinely panicking, doing her wrists and chest too which we obvs didn’t that day and eventually putting our fingers in her mouth as well, making sure he keeps making them super cold again for each new area]

Janis: [the contrary but both totally real reaction of another big breath and happy sigh out turning into a frustrated little noise thinking about that day and where it all went wrong because if only, contenting yourself by doing the most like you gotta warm him up after that and it is SO important]

Casey: [the shhing and really genuine sounds of comfort he would do at her little angry noise because he knows why she made it and we have to let you know that no, it shouldn’t be upsetting anymore because that’s all over and now we’re here but can’t fully verbalise that when she’s doing the most and it’s having such an effect on him despite opening his mouth to try]

Janis: [‘you’re so nice to me’ still not opening our eyes, still fully going down on your whole hand right now basically]

Casey: [‘I love you’ it’s been a minute since he said it and we can’t have that ‘you’re my baby’ baby because we’re giving that comforting and nursing you better energy here once again from the moment she was like calm me down thank you]

Janis: [doing the softest little moan at being called baby ‘I love you more’ nuzzling our head into his hand]

Casey: [stroking her hair and cupping her face and all those soft things back as if to say no you don’t, kissing her forehead and the top of her head/hair and so gently scratching her scalp with his nails]

Janis: [lowkey lying on this bonnet now we’re feeling so relaxed, don’t mind the fact you’re in public stop you babes ‘you know what I need’]

Casey: [‘a little nap’ not as a question cos we see you lying there relaxed af, picking her up and putting her inside the car and getting in himself to big spoon for a sec regardless of whether y’all sleep or not actually, just taking a minute to chill]

Janis: [you truly do need it, even if neither of you sleeps, just wuggle, holding your hands ‘round our belly and drawing tiny hearts on all your knuckles]

Casey: [drawing one on her stomach, simply must, we know realistically you won’t sleep cos you’d be paranoid now of getting woken up like that again or of getting back home too late and everyone being there, but this is cute and necessary regardless, I like to imagine his own stomach rumbles because lord knows when you last ate if you were fighting with your gf from when you came in from your night out/work]

Janis: [looking back as if you’ve really only just remembered you’re people who do need more than just sex to survive ‘food’ like yes, we must procure some ‘what do you fancy?’]

Casey: [‘what’ve we got in?’ cos clearly planning to just raid the fridge when you get back and cba to go to the shop or any unnecessary faffing around when what you really wanna do is drop this car and be gone on your roadtrip]

Janis: [list off some things you do that would be quick and easy to grab and go ‘Bobby don’t eat as much as you’ like he hasn’t been scranning all the food in the house so should all still be legit suggestions lol]

Casey: [‘should do’ like if he wants to be as big and strong as me but his heart’s not fully in the bants because thinking about going home even though they need to and it’s not for long is really not the mood]

Janis: [it absolutely is not right now, for either of y’all, squeezing his hands and using them to push ourselves up and out of this hug, giving them a pat like okay ‘let’s try again’ like 2nd attempt at leaving]

Casey: [‘sooner we’re back, sooner we can be off’ like yep let’s actually do it this time, pulling her up and out of this seat more than she’d done for herself before we change our mind cos too tempting but mustn’t]

Janis: [smiling like exactly, even though it’s a half smile at best because going home makes it all real but gotta do what we gotta do, get in the driver’s seat of your car and get going]

Casey: [giving her a final kiss as she gets in her driver’s seat and being like ‘race you’ and getting in his own because it’ll make it bearable to rush back if it’s a competition but don’t mind me wanting to cry because him saying that reminded me of JJ on the school trip]

Janis: [my boo says how dare we honestly]

Casey: [it’s rude but at least it means you’ll focus on driving instead of pining for each other or dreading approaching home so I’ll suck it up buttercup, park at the nosy neighbours and then get in this gaff, heading straight for the kettle and fridge]

Janis: [sit at the kitchen table like it isn’t totally jarring to see your normal, everyday life all around you again, as if you were truly never gonna come back, before deciding you can’t sit so whilst he’s foraging heading for the door ‘I’m gonna pack another outfit, at least’ like give us as long as we can before facing this]

Casey: [‘chuck us one in’ because quicker if she packs for you too while you sort these food and drinks and you obvs wanna be gone as soon as possible ‘hang on for a shower though, I’ll come with you’ cos simply gotta shower together not just for speed but because it’s comforting whilst dealing with this weird part of the plan]

Janis: [‘will do’ to both requests because yes]

Janis: if you was in his place, would you rather a note or a call about where I’m gone

Janis: neithers ideal but what’s less shitty, even by a bit

Casey: I ain’t in his place nor his head but

Casey: a note

Casey: can read it when the shock’s wore off any even if it’s in a ball having been chucked at the wall

Casey: he’ll only go into it fully hearing you and take nowt you say in, know what he’s like

Janis: yeah, alright

Janis: that all sounds about right

Janis: not saying everything, not that much of a cunt, just what happened enough to explain you need to be away a day

Casey: I’m gonna send you the dog pics from it and leave my phone here

Janis: yeah?

Casey: only dickhead worth talking to is the one I’ll be with

Janis: and the dog, when we find it

Casey: [send her all the pics and deets]

Casey: no having a look til we’re on the road, know what you’re like an’ all

Janis: no spoilers, I hear you

Casey: [bring these foods and drinks upstairs and hope she’s reached your room for packing because honestly it’s the one room in the house that’s only his and so would be the least of a headfuck and most likely to keep you in your bubble as much as you can be, have a casual bed picnic and pretend everything is fine]

Janis: [must actually finish your food and drink this time ‘cos you need to lads, plus you’re on the clock so can’t get too distracted, lowkey looking around his room ‘cos haven’t been in here for a minute, obviously]

Casey: [meanwhile he’s deliberately trying not to look around because of the high likelihood his gf left a few things of hers lying about and those aren’t reminders he wants or needs, not at all casually trying to eat and drink as fast as physically possible so y’all can get in the shower, even though that’ll have its own for you both as well]

Janis: [we know that’s why you are but we understand why you’re not boy ‘don’t make yourself sick’ just genuinely but also like it’s okay energy]

Casey: [‘making me wanna throw up being here’ just blurting that out before we can even think, obvs not just for the gf reasons]

Janis: [just sigh because we know but there’s nothing we can do about that either and it’s a hard same]

Casey: [force yourself to carry on eating even though it’s the last thing you really wanna do and then pull her up and into a standing hug once you both have]

Janis: [hug him back ‘what the fuck are we gonna do’ quiet, truly not expecting an answer but we have to voice it]

Casey: [‘shower and then piss off to find our dog’ we know it isn’t what she means but what we’re trying to say here is one step at a time, we’ll get that done and then we’ll see]

Janis: [do a lil laugh like yeah, okay ‘that easy, like’]

Casey: [handholding to this bathroom, gently but insistently pulling her along like come on, definitely taking her clothes off for her with that same energy and helping her in when we get there]

Janis: [just letting yourself be because there is no sense arguing with it at this moment, nor do we have the energy to because that would mean staying here and fully facing it and we aren’t ready so be in this shower, helping him wash himself]

Casey: [absolutely goes without saying he’s washing her too because we know you don’t have the energy or desire to do this or be here, girl]

Janis: [at least there is never any denying, nor getting used to, seeing you like this or being able to touch you, so even though we can’t get carried away, we still appreciate the fact we’re here together ‘no bubble bath but’]

Casey: [hard same on all counts, as usual ‘gutted, shower sherry has a well nice ring to it’]

Janis: [‘be a bit of a weird marketing strategy’ like was a very specific situation but pop off]

Casey: [‘oldies are always slipping and falling, got the excuse there, and the ad campaign’s writing itself’ imagine, adverts of old people just absolutely pissed having a shower party ‘fed up relatives’d buy loads, such a valid way to bump ‘em off’]

Janis: [actually doing a lol because an amusing mental image, especially picturing the likes of shit nan, obvs ‘only slightly rude of you not to write it with me in mind’ like how else am I gonna get my face out there boy]

Casey: [‘warned you your fit nan’s there half the time’ dying imagining Tess starring in this, bye]

Janis: [pushing you but saving you to give the bants energy of gonna bump you off in this shower now, dickhead]

Casey: [‘nah, nothing I’m up to where you ain’t on it’ for the bants of no need to kill me actually but also just true]

Janis: [‘let you live then’ hugging you from behind like we’re now steadying you but we just wanna]

Casey: [‘tah’ like lol oh thanks but it’s such a soft and genuine thanks because we do wanna live rn we’re living laughing loving despite it all, soz Jimothy, soz Bobby]

Janis: [we wouldn’t feel so guilty if we didn’t want this as much, is the tea]

Casey: [mhmm, just do a hot move to get this gal into a position to start washing her hair for her, obvs giving her scalp scratches again and lowkey a head massage like we’re not on the clock here]

Janis: [like, the more comfortable you get, the better tbh, so we’re not gonna stop you ‘hope you ain’t put 3 in 1 on my head right now’ like I know you and your bleach blonde girlfriends, sir, my hair needs conditioning properly baby lmao]

Casey: [an unimpressed yet amused noise because excuse you but it’s also funny ‘you wanna crack on yourself or what?’ cos clearly neither of us wants that rn so hush lol]

Janis: [squishing your grumpy face always but shaking our head, ‘cos of course not ‘you’ve got the harder job this time’ as we start to wash yours for you in return because that ain’t going to take you long at all and it’ll be mainly a scalp massage]

Casey: [GOING IN and deliberately doing the most when he does condition for her, purely to make a point and not at all to do with his blatant kink]

Janis: [‘you want me to-’ and kneeling down so he can really get in there, nothing suggestive about that at all]

Casey: [y’all send me, of course he’s doing even more than before now, somehow, just focused, not at all turned on as hell, nope]

Janis: [really relaxing your shoulders and letting your head be pushed and pulled in whatever direction as he’s pulling your hair]

Casey: [the way conditioner really can look like sperm is really not helping the suggestiveness lol]

Janis: [it really does lmao, no shame that we’re just gonna ‘you want me to-’ again and proceed to give you head]

Casey: [no shame either in his ridiculously extra reactions as always or how hardcore he’s directing how her head’s moving now, it’s the eye contact for me and the ‘don’t get none in your eye’ that could mean conditioner or jizz or both right here right now]

Janis: [when the only real way you know we’re smiling right now is our eyes because we’re showing you we won’t get none anywhere but in our mouth]

Casey: [all the encouraging sounds and touches ‘good girl, I’d hate if you had to close them’ cos eye contact is everything and good girl makes anyone go feral, just facts]

Janis: [shaking your head slowly from side to side, so you’re fully pressing him into each cheek, never breaking eye contact but picking up the pace for the good girl]

Casey: [always giving it his all with deserved reactions especially with moaning and breathing but the most important one I’d like to note is him taking one hand out of her hair to lock their fingers together and just have a lovely intense handhold because ily so much]

Janis: [squeezing your hand so tightly because love you, love this, truly, coming up for air and doing tiny kisses on the head and then really gently grazing our teeth down the underside, like we’re going to bite you but won’t because would be v painful lol and we’re just claiming you not trying to maim you too]

Casey: [the ‘fuck!’ with all the feeling in the world because simply must and likewise must say her name over and over as if it’s all we can]

Janis: [‘have you said my name like that in here before?’ then shushing ourselves by going back to deepthroating, using our tongue to create extra tight suction, because obviously we mean far quieter than you are being right now but we want louder]

Casey: [trying to say ‘not like that’ because obviously we cannot in the volume sense or the sense that it has never been this good without you actually here, but then that turns into SUCH a loud moan because her antics]

Janis: [signing ‘I did when you run me the bath’ because we definitely were until Jimothy came in to piss, soz but also scuse you]

Casey: [the totally involuntary and dramatic movement of his hips in response to knowing that cos obvs he hoped and thought so but to get it honestly confirmed is another thing, don’t kill her please, she’s already going really deep there, telling her every time he did that day but also any other times that cross his feral little mind rn cos need her to know all of them in as much detail as we are capable of atm, lowkey desperately rambling here haha]

Janis: [we know it’s her kink unlocked so we’re just fully choking ourselves out here because cannot deal with how much he has to say, having to stop handholding so we can touch ourselves right now because it’s a need, signing again ‘when you called her in front of me’]

Casey: [this boy cannot deal with how hot her choking is nevermind how much she’s CLEARLY into it because lbr most gals aren’t really they just power through if it happens, for once making no move to take over and touch her himself because it’s too hot as well watching her do it, not at all casually relaying the rest of the phone call from when she walked away from memory as best we can but saying it all to her this time, but it would take forever because he cannot function]

Janis: [fully putting our other hand around our own throat now and squeezing so hard you can feel it from the inside because of how far you are using our other to grab a razor and use the handle to fuck ourselves, the spit drooling all the way down our body]

Casey: [there is no universe in which any of that wouldn’t make him cum so hard and that reason alone is enough of one to press down on the bite he did to her shoulder as hard while he does, just fully grabbing it and pressing each finger in til she’s also got blood running down her body]

Janis: [when your throat is so full the cum has nowhere to go but out so you let that explode out your mouth and nose, all down you to complete the mess that is your body rn ‘more’ not being specific but very insistent]

Casey: [bringing the little shower head to her and lowkey just waterboarding her with it because we all remember she also likes to drown from their other bath antics we’ve written before]

Janis: [you can tell we like it by the way we’re going so much harder on ourselves, keeping our mouth open until it completely fills with water, plugging our nose at the same time ‘til we have to spit it all out for air]

Casey: [making it beyond clear that he wants her to spit it into his mouth because y’all’s other kink, might as well tick them all off]

Janis: [pinching his mouth open with our thumb and forefinger ‘you let me turn you on, and you fucked her with it’ as we spit this into your mouth with force]

Casey: [swallowing as forcefully before kissing her and with it biting her tongue so she can have that blood in her mouth]

Janis: [lowkey seeing how much blood we can have in our mouth before it starts making us gag, smearing it over him however we see fit ‘I wanted you to stay so bad, we could’ve been doing this the whole time’]

Casey: [‘it makes you sick’ like figuratively but also literally throw up for me then when she does gag as if she’ll do it on command the way she did cum when he told her to]

Janis: [‘why are you the same kind of sick as me?’ genuine amazement like how are you down for everything right now, when the protective case comes off the razor end ‘cos of how hard you’re going so you accidentally cut a few of your fingers, offering them up to him like kiss it better please]

Casey: [‘we’re built the same, that’s why it hurt you, deep, when I lied we weren’t’ kissing each finger individually v slowly like she cleaned hers earlier but then all at once, sucking all of them and getting them as deep in his mouth as he can like I’ll choke and maybe throw up if you’re not gonna, just the kind of couple they are]

Janis: [nodding so seriously like yes it fucking did ‘we’re each others, like actual halfs, not twin bullshit, real mirror’ you don’t even know how we’re reacting as if that’s our own dick like it feels that good right now ‘good boy’ kissing him and trying to press your tongue as far down his throat that he could vom and tapping him like do the same back, like right in each other’s faces, okay, feral]

Casey: [we all know he’s gonna do it, I don’t even need to say it, out here trying to murder each other]

Janis: [I see no way you would be able to not do it back with this proximity so there you go lads, you did that, definite first neither of you has done with anyone else because who on this earth lmao]

Casey: [grandma me is fuming like SO glad I made you eat if that’s what you were gonna bother doing]

Janis: [my boo says a waste, frankly, ‘tis clear y’all disagree though]

Casey: [can’t even hose them down to get them to chill out because they’d only be into it, oh lads, you’re so grim but I love you]

Janis: [soz that we married our first boyfriend so we didn’t get to work all this out, like, but you do need to get back under the shower, wash this away, stroking his back and telling him how good he was]

Casey: [and soz that he’s not only desensitised to gross things from cleaning up his parents blood and sick and piss as a literal child but he did it so often and as an act of love that it literally is part of what he considers love to be, so mutual, stroking her throat which honestly must hurt rn v tenderly and giving her all the compliments, holding her to us as close as we possibly can]

Janis: [mhmm, tea, and love them as we might, she comes from a weird unconventional hippie background where there are no real normal limits or rules in place and that sinks in like it or not so duh; we’re pressing every part of our skin into yours, being a casual weighted blanket ‘I have to be with you, I can’t do it without you no more’]

Casey: [I’m just over here dying cos Jimothy could never with the freaky shit y’all are into, casually like a nun in comparison, soz sir, cradling her like she’s a baby Clove again the way he did when she was sobbing ‘you’re gonna be with me, there’s no more without’]

Janis: [it truly is not your fault lmao, this is next level; ‘I’ve never felt small’ sounds like we’re shading you again Jimothy but we mean like the protected one, ever in our life, casually, nbd]

Casey: [‘it ain’t gotta be all on you now’ the hardcore unspoken I am not him and I can take care of you just as much as you take of me ‘I’ll tell you as many times as needed’ because we just keep saying how mutual everything is but it’s honestly true, y’all are way more equal and that’s the tea ‘show you even more’]

Janis: [‘or you’ softer, ‘cos they’re gonna have a reason to hate me now too and I will be fully on your side in their eyes, obviously; because we know you feel like they blame you for everything and lowkey lads ‘just don’t know how the fuck I’m meant to work when there’s so much you could be showing me’ ‘cos truly wish we were a teen with no responsibilities rn]

Casey: [‘you’ve been on my side since day 1 they just ain’t worked it out ‘cause they don’t see you how you are’ cos yet more tea, she’s on such a pedestal and we all know it, perfect wife, perfect mother even though Bobby and Libi aren’t technically theirs, perfect sister in law to this undeserving bad apple ‘only I know you, I’m the only one who won’t ever be shit scared to have a look under the bollocks they’ve piled over you’ STARING at her so she knows how serious we are about every word we just said ‘why you’re mine and you wasn’t gonna never be his proper’]

Janis: [the way we’re just dead at your words, truly dead and cannot cope because it’s too true ‘why’d you have to be so young’ as if we can go back and age him up, fully admitting things could have been different if he weren’t, which we know but still, there it is confirmed, hugging you so hard, letting this water run off our skin, chasing droplets on yours like you do on rainy windows]

Casey: [‘if they had us first, wouldn’t be no others, we dunno who I’d be then, if you’d be after me at all’ when you know damn well you were both of your parents’ shameless fave and they loved you best, fucked up as they are, soz about it ‘can’t go back, piss about changing things to mean they might end up worse than here’ cos again not soz we’re so happy rn, bit rude to his battered gf but we do feel like that kinda had to happen to bring us here and tip y’all over the edge you’ve been on for ages ‘I don’t wanna do sod all different between you and me today, not none of it’ bringing her out of the shower and wrapping her in a towel sitting her on your lap, while he’s sat on the toilet assumedly, like she’s a bub]

Janis: [😏 but cannot disagree because we all know your parents were blatant, not that we live for Jimmy or Bobby on that score but it’s not as if you really got a swag time out of it either so you know, just smiling at him properly because since you met up again today it has been a whirlwind of dreamlike perfection in all its headfuckery, so we completely agree, brushing your hair for you with our fingers, giving you various styles like a mohawk and a combover etc]

Casey: [joining in and being silly by grabbing some of her hair and putting it on his head like is this the mood for me or no, doing some cliche modelling faces really OTT]

Janis: [fully loling like oh no no ‘I told you you’d be such an ugly girl, babe’]

Casey: [chatting shit about random girls she’s had to work with through the years and dragging them to filth for the pure fun of it, like speaking of ugly girls]

Janis: [we do love to bitch and we know some models especially are unique looking in the ugly way, soz gals, tell him some stories about the gross and insane things you saw models doing because you ladies aren’t even doing it for fun, just eating disorders]

Casey: [in turn tell her about the gross and insane things you’ve seen peeps do at the club because peeps really do get that drunk and/or high and be totally wilding and it’s not even hot and feral like y’all it’s just cringe and awks]

Janis: [everyone knows it’s true, most nights clubs are full of the cringiest people, if not all nights, it’s teens and sad cases who can’t let go or letchy old people there to be pervs so not the vibe and y’all would be an endless source of entertainment for him ‘least you can overcharge ‘em after they’ve had the first ‘round of shots’ ‘cos cards have made that so easy, people don’t know ‘til they look at their account the next day]

Casey: [the way y’all would have to be signing so much of this because there’s no chance your voices aren’t fucked, especially hers with how much her throat would kill and that’d make it funnier cos some of the gestures for the kind of stories you’re telling would be hilarious ‘can afford to keep you if I really crack on’ like a kept woman because what she said about not knowing how she was gonna work]

Janis: [the signing making everything 10x funnier, just in a silly goofy mood now aren’t we, I’m just like thank god you do get away before Jimmy gets back because you’re in no fit state to have this convo now, just like sorry we’ll have to furiously sign at each other; ‘unlikely’ like we’re that high maintenance as we pretend to be with a smirk]

Casey: [likewise I am so relieved you’ll be gone before Bobby and Libi get home from school because they don’t need to see y’all in this state either, I know you two are sheltered hardcore but this isn’t the time or place to be changing that, doing a gesture like she’s twisting his arm behind his back ‘can’t get a day job an’ all, whole point’s getting chance to see you more’]

Janis: [I know you two and you’d think they’d been fighting, and that is an awkward correction to make, not the time nor place, thank you no no; ‘now we don’t have to avoid each other’ because you’d have the early hours when he gets in and before you go to work and then tea time until he goes to his job whenever in the evening, so it’s not nothing, about the same amount of time you get when you both have day jobs, just you go to sleep at different times]

Casey: [‘you’ll be down the club to see the bollocks I told you goes on with your own too fucking cute eyes’ like that’s what she was gonna say and he’s finishing her sentence]

Janis: [‘if the invitation still stands’ like you did so RUDELY leave me hanging]

Casey: [‘I need you anywhere I am’ because how we feel rn]

Janis: [‘I’ll sleep on the coats then’ like a neglected child at a party vibes because okay, let’s never be apart ‘might have to massage some footballers, you’ve got some skill already’ ‘cos all the back rubs ‘unless you wanna learn how to do manicures off Gracie instead’ like wouldn’t that be fun]

Casey: [‘I’ll carry you’ everywhere like she’s a baby in a sling and carrying her back to his bedroom as if he needs to prove it despite having done nothing but pick this girl up today, throwing her down on his bed like an oi to the pisstakes she also said]

Janis: [‘that’s not how I get ‘em on the bed’ 😏 ‘cos imagine but we’re pulling you towards us like come here]

Casey: [ getting on top of her shamelessly ‘next you’ll be telling us I can’t do manicures and that like this’]

Janis: [‘only if the girl is really fucking ugly and I know you won’t enjoy it at all’ shrug like not soz]

Casey: [‘what about like…?’and nibbing her fingernail]

Janis: [laughing ‘have to do feet like that an’all you know’]

Casey: [do get a toe and do it because not remotely the weirdest thing y’all have done today]

Janis: [when we’re just heart eyes at your cray because it matches ours and we’re genuinely having such a lovely time we forgot we could barely stand to be in this house not that long ago ‘nah, you definitely ain’t doing that to no other bitch’ like I have made up my mind ‘can do makeup instead’]

Casey: [‘or this’ kissing and licking the inside of her ankle because it feels the same vibe almost as the wrist as far as those erogenous zones go appaz, ‘promise I’ll not this, neither’ biting it exactly how she did his wrist earlier]

Janis: [I see that, they’re very boney, both joints, and you know it’s our favourite thing in the whole world right now so we’re giving you the exact reaction you want before flipping you over like my turn to work our way down your body to get to your kneecap because again, similar and it’s quite a big area you could get a nice bite on]

Casey: [everyone talks about how behind the knee is yet another zone but I agree, if you’re those bitches, the knee itself would be a mood, so you can have the exact reaction you want back]

Janis: [yeah, the point is we’re savages so we’re doing it on a bit that isn’t nice and fleshy to drive that home, just crawling back up you to kiss you again and lie on your chest]

Casey: [pouting because you know you should get dressed but it’s the literal last thing you wanna do rn, doing her elbow for that exact reason]

Janis: [was hoping you’d do there, got an arm and a leg one each lmao, this is definitely not making us wanna leave this bed either so the ‘we’ll be in the same car this time’ whilst true doesn’t sound as convincing as it could]

Casey: [I nearly forgot it, I was sat there like hmm boney bits, boney bits?’ lol love that we’ve managed to achieve that ‘we’re already on the same bed’ despite knowing we can’t stay here because yeah]

Janis: [‘we’ll barricade the door then’ like okay, again, acting like we can make all the things happen because we don’t have to be realistic and boring today ‘out the window whenever we need anything’]

Casey: [absolutely have to have him pick her up and take her over to the door and stand her up and push her against it like we’re testing our bodies as a suitable barricade option]

Janis: [pulling the handle like okay, if you want to test let’s do it properly]

Casey: [as ever doesn’t need barely any encouragement to go all out and immediately is with hardcore against this door we have this girl, turning her round so he can press her face against it instead of her back, just cos, gotta do a proper test huns]

Janis: [likewise, we don’t need to be genuinely trying to yank this door open like someone breaking in because we so clearly want you to win but we’re never going to make anything easy when it could be a challenge for you to rise to, the GASP we do when you flip us around would be everything]

Casey: [biting her other shoulder from this side and angle because the other one was from the front, defs doing it to try and make it a challenge for you to not be too distracted to keep trying to open the door and not just because that GASP really got us and we SHIVERED in a way that has nothing to do with your out the shower nakedness]

Janis: [the casual way this is unspoken roleplay right now, we all see you, likewise trying to distract you by grabbing one of your hands with our other and putting it where we want it like feel how turned on I am, boy]

Casey: [do because cannot resist that ever, just a finger though to be annoying and like no I cannot be too distracted]

Janis: [angrily doing the most with this one finger like no, more, as we’re still trying our hardest to break the door down whilst being used as a human barricade ‘we’re running out of time’ like you know you wanna]

Casey: [pinning her against the door with his entire other arm across her body because determined to rise to this challenge ‘how much more?’ as we tease you by occasionally adding another finger but then taking it away again, but he is ridiculously turned on ofc and that’s really pressed against you too rn so, not that much of a tease]

Janis: [getting another GASP but it’s slightly muffled by the door which makes it even more of a mood, honestly, ‘you know one accidental move and you could be inside me’ because literally, there are no clothes and you’re both struggling and turned on af so ‘that much more’]

Casey: [‘no accident when I cum inside you, tell me how much you wanna make me’ because we’re really just out here doing that repeatedly today, how is this baby not yours tbh]

Janis: [pushing ourselves back against you with the most blatant intent possible ‘you deserve to cum inside me as often as you need to, I have to make it happen any way I can, any way you ask’]

Casey: [going in when she moves like that but pulling out like the utter tease he is ‘how often do you need?’]

Janis: [‘Casey’ such a whine like noooooooo ‘I need all your cum or it’s wasted’]

Casey: [‘you’re exactly like me’ so buzzing because we’re not afraid to be this blatantly needy with you either, giving her exactly what she needs like okay you’ve earned it no more playing]

Janis: [‘fuck me and they’ll go away’ as if someone truly is at this door but our grasp is getting weaker because this is what we actually want to give our energy to]

Casey: [for me it’s the convo we’re having with a fictional outside the door person, telling them she’s his every way he can think to verbalise that whilst doing the most to get her to properly moan his name over and over]

Janis: [just telling this fictional person that we’re his ‘he can do whatever he wants to me and there’s nothing you can do’ scratching down your own paintwork here]

Casey: [‘you love me’ like tell the fictional person please as we’re going to town on you here]

Janis: [the ‘I love him so much’ being the involuntary blurt out kind of moan, fully in response to the physical ‘no one’s ever gonna compete’]

Casey: [‘you don’t want them to even try, it’s a pisstake any other twats exist, they’re only in our fucking way’]

Janis: [‘you’re the only person that exists here’ and slamming back on you so hard ‘no one can get between us’ pulling him into us with as much ferocity like see]

Casey: [the NOISE, I hope none of your neighbours are in working from home or pulling a sickie rn, meeting her energy by pushing her forward as hard as she goes back because agreed, they simply cannot]

Janis: [‘he’s so fucking sexy, but it’s for me, you can only listen’ because that noise was the best thing we’ve ever heard and we’re only getting more taunting to this fictional person ‘cos damn]

Casey: [‘her’ because same energy as you but gotta do it for this fictional person ‘but you ain’t having that off us’ like nope I’m not gonna even let you hear her and pulling her back from the door enough he can slip his hand over her mouth]

Janis: [the lowkey but not at all lowkey scream that you’re covering, thank god]

Casey: [giving it everything like it’s the first time and we’ve never hooked up before instead of whatever number we’re on]

Janis: [when you can be louder than you even have because your mouth is covered so he can feel all this noise and heat and drool]

Casey: [when you can’t stop yourself from putting your other hand around her throat to feel it as well even though you’re meant to be holding this door closed/her against it, so purely have to do it with the rest of your body]

Janis: [lowkey, somehow having the wherewithal to try and open this door when he gives us this slight window because at this point you wanna burst out onto the landing and get fucked there like no one could come home at any minute]

Casey: [1000% allowing you to fall out onto the landing floor because that is such a whole mood, just going at it there cos can’t and won’t stop even for a sec]

Janis: [the casual carpet burn we’re receiving is giving us life, truly could not be going at it more like animals ‘I’m yours, show everyone’]

Casey: [mhmm, getting her on her hands and knees so it’s really giving nature documentary vibes]

Janis: [crawling away from you purely so your hands are on the first step and putting our head down too as we push back up against you]

Casey: [going so hard it sends her down another step]

Janis: [so about it, the arch getting even more ridiculous]

Casey: [‘you feel so good’ a ridiculous understatement at this point but we’re just blurting it out cos overwhelmed]

Janis: [‘good enough to cum in?’ pleading but loud as fuck]

Casey: [saying ‘yeah’ until it stops being a word or making sense and until we’re literally about to and then we gotta let her know about it ‘I’m gonna’ like it’s not blatant enough from your actions or the way you’re saying it, god bless you, boy]

Janis: [having to grab the railings so you don’t go flying down these stairs head first because the strength of his orgasm followed by yours would make it close, we’re clearly ending down a few more but only appropriately bruised, likewise your name makes no sense now because we’ve said it so much and in so many different ways]

Casey: [literally is too dead to move after that but still drags himself to where she is to check her over with his eyes and make sure she isn’t accidentally more hurt than is acceptable]

Janis: [we’ve both just collapsed but can likewise see it’s only in a good way so just doing such a dreamy smile at you like jesus that was unreal]

Casey: [have to sign cos his voice would fr be gone this time and he’d try to but literally can’t ‘how does it keep getting better?’ because buzzing about it but shook]

Janis: [will likewise be signing ‘what are you doing if you’re not beating your best, like’ thanks for the competitive streak being pathological at this point lmao ‘you’re so-‘ even faltering when signing because how do we ever say it when we can barely comprehend how insane this all is]

Casey: [poke her like no you because never gonna be over how incredible this gal is, like, he already thought he been knew before all this insanity today happened but now he really knows]

Janis: [poking you back like no you boy ‘I missed you’ then doing a lowkey silent little lol because your voice is fucked because as if you could predict it would be like this when you started being friends again or whatever the reunion energy was gonna be]

Casey: [‘any kind of mate and I’d be downstairs sorting you some salt water’ because you have to gargle and spit that out so it’s pure shower antics reminders as well as just being a cure ‘can’t piss off and have you missing me that much though’ can’t move rn more like sir]

Janis: [‘should put some clothes on first, probably’ but the way we’re looking at you thanks to that reminder we’re clearly devastated about that]

Casey: [‘she ain’t been round about my parking nor sent him’ like it’s FINE the nosy neighbours are obvs not in,with a LOOK cos we both know they could’ve been complaining about all y’all’s noise too, moving to get up like imma go rn immediately and cannot so gotta be like help me then and lowkey almost pull you both down the stairs in the attempt, another reminder there thanks to a bannister grab, cos we can]

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kazuchii · 3 years

Note

Could i have some fluffy headcanons with Diluc, Zhongli, and Albedo who have an s/o with really dark eyebags? Like they sleep fine at night but the eyebags just...won't go away

GN!Reader with Eyebags w/ Genshin Boys

A/N: Thank you for requesting! This request was actually really easy for me since I too, struggle with eyebags that just won’t go away XD Sorry this took a bit! I've been a little busy. Hope you enjoy it!

Synopsis: The Genshin boys are a little worried about your eyebags, thinking you're not sleeping at night.

Characters: Albedo, Diluc, Zhongli

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

Albedo didn’t seem worried at first when it came to your eyebags. He just assumed you weren’t sleeping very well.

Honestly, I doubt Albedo gets well rested at night. He probably stays up late doing alchemy stuff after all. He always advised you to go to bed ahead of him for you to get the best sleep possible.

Whenever he would come to bed, you’d always be passed out under the bedsheets.

So when Albedo noticed your dark eyebags, he was puzzled.

You seemed to be sleeping like a log at night. You were always passed out and dreaming away whenever he arrived home to your shared bed.

The only hypothesis to this he could speculate was that you were indeed staying up late at night. Were you possibly staying up late at night waiting for him?

This only made Albedo more concerned. He told you that there was no reason for you to stay up late waiting for him. But you went and did it anyway, resulting in you passing out at night waiting every night.

The guilt Albedo felt made him mess up a couple of times the following day. Items would slip out of his grasp the moment he let the guilt surface.

He confided to Sucrose about the issue, his head in his hands.

“Well Mister Albedo, shouldn’t you just…be honest with them about your concerns?”

So that night, you were getting prepared for bed. Just as you sat on the bed, the door slammed open.

You jumped a little, swinging your head to the maniac that decided to scare you just as you were about to head to bed for the night.

Albedo stood there, a serious expression planted on his facial features.

“Albedo?”

“Stop staying up late for me.”

An awkward smile crept up onto your face, cocking your head off to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Your eyebags. I’ve noticed them. You need to get more sleep.”

“But Albedo-“

He wasn’t listening to you though. His face morphed into a more sincere, worried one as he moved towards the bed.

“I want what's best for your health. Please stop staying up late waiting f-”

“Bedo, I don't stay up late for you.”

Albedo froze on the spot, blinking as his brain shut off.

“I go to bed on time each night. Who said I ever stay up late for you? Bedo, I love you, but I’d rather sleep than wait for you for hours.”

He was almost offended by that statement.

“But...your eyebags.”

“Oh, yeah they won't leave no matter what I do. Probably payback for staying up late years earlier. I should probably try some sort of cream to get rid of them.”

As you blabbered on and on about your eyebags, Albedo was still trying to restart his brain. Sure he was the one who had originally told you your health was more important, but why did that statement hurt so much-

For the past few days, you’ve hardly been able to get a single glimpse of Diluc. He’s been so preoccupied with his work that you never see him, you only hear him bid you goodbye early every morning.

The only people to keep you company was the maids working at his mansion. They would take care of you by making any meals and just cleaning throughout the building.

Meanwhile, you just did whatever you pleased.

I mean, this was your home as well so there wasn’t really anyone stopping you. You’d just do whatever you felt like doing at the moment.

But you got to a point where you were bored. You missed the feeling of Diluc and the warmth he always had radiating from him. You craved the feeling to be wrapped up in his arms.

You wanted to feel loved

So since absolutely nothing was stopping you from doing whatever you pleased, you decided to go on a little adventure.

And by adventure, I mean taking a little trip to Mondstadt and stopping by Angel’s Share.

Diluc never exactly said you couldn’t visit while he worked, but I don’t think he ever thought you would so he never said anything.

It was late into the evening when you finally reached the gates of Mondstadt. The exhausted guards greeted you with a lazy wave as you passed by them.

It didn’t take too long to find Angels Share.

Creaking open the door to Angel’s Share, you peeked your head in. The bar was completely deserted besides a single man residing behind the counter; Diluc.

“Diluc!”

Diluc’s head perked up instantaneously.

“(Y/N)?”

He rushed out from behind the counter to come to greet you at the entrance.

“Love, what are you doing here? You should be back home getting ready for bed.”

“I missed you, so I wanted to come to see you. We haven’t been spending much time together after all.”

Diluc could feel the heat rising up to his face. How could you say that without being embarrassed in the slightest?

The smile on your face wasn’t helping his situation whatsoever. But soon enough, his eyes caught something off about your appearance.

“Love, have you been sleeping well at night?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’ve got dark eyebags underneath your eyes.”

Oh yeah, you forgot those were there. You were so used to them being there that you forgot all about them.

“Oh, yeah. So, they refuse to leave no matter what I do. I get at least a solid eight hours of sleep every night, but they just don’t seem to want to leave.”

“Have you tried different treatments?”

“I have tried all the possible ones here in Mondstadt, but nothing seems to be working.”

“Perhaps something to help you could be located in Liyue…”

“You don’t have to do that for me!”

But Diluc wasn’t having any of that. He lifted his gloved hand, cupping your cheek, and gazed towards you lovingly.

“Love, I hope you realize the things I’d do to make you smile.”

Zhongli never expected him to fall for a mortal. When you came into his life, at first he was a little concerned. After all, you were just a human with a limited life span. If he were to get attached, he would be forced with leaving you behind. He would be forced with watching you age and eventually pass on.

So, when he first felt the bubbly feeling inside his chest whenever he would spend time with you, he was wary. He tried to distance himself from you, but in the end, it didn't go as planned.

He still became attached, it was just something he couldn't prevent.

Now he finds himself with you whenever he can. He'd rather spend time making memories with you than worrying about your fate.

Although, whenever the two of you would go out, you were the one who always ended up paying.

"My love, I don't have any mora."

"Expected. But luckily, I brought some with us."

He was always grateful for having you at his side. When he told you that he was actually the Geo Archon, he expected you to not believe him and find him weird.

But strangely enough, you believed every word he told you

This man has been a puppy following you around ever since. He adores it whenever you hold his hand in public; it always brings a smile to his face.

He also worries about your health constantly. After all, you're mortal.

So when you met with him after his work was completed for a little date in Liyue, his eyes were wide with concern.

"My love, have you not been getting enough sleep at night?"

"Yup! I've been sleeping perfectly fine."

Zhongli was suspicious of that statement.

"Are you positive?"

"I'm 100% positive, Zhongli. Trust me, if I was having issues sleep I would tell you immediately."

"Then why do you have such dark eyebags underneath your eyes?"

"Not really sure. They don't seem to want to go away. I get a solid eight hours every night, too. I guess I'm just stuck with them."

"Do they bother you at all?"

"I mean, the only issue is when people look at me funny because of them. Otherwise, I forget they exist."

Zhongli didn't like that one bit. He didn't mind that you had the eye bags, but what he did mind was that people would give you looks due to them.

"I"ll find something."

"Huh?"

"I'll find something that'll help fix your eyebags. I'd rather not have people giving you looks because of them."

"You don't have to do that! It's perfectly fine."

But Zhongli wasn't listening to a word you were saying.

"I'll find Childe. I'm sure he'd be happy to pay for anything I'll need-"

"Wait!"

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #gender neutral reader #anime x reader #headcanons #fluff #eye bags #zhongli x reader #diluc #albedo #zhongli #liyue #mondstadt

389 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 3 years

Note

Hey bb! First of all, let me just tell u how much I love your writing! You're fabulous, love. Don't ever doubt yourself. Secondly, I wanted to know if u could do a college professor! Jungkook and pretty student reader where Jk is absolutely enamoured by her.. (also, with a bit of the good ol smut🤭) It's a-okay if u can't tho! Just know that you're appreciated!❤️

the probability of us

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 6k

glimpse: jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

notes: there’s something so warm about this request that it made me write it as an actual fic and not a bullet one!!! i did alter it a little bit but i was genuinely so happy writing this so thank you sO much for this babe :D // gif from pinterest!

Jungkook, in his better and most definitely unbiased judgement, thinks he knows enough about you.

He knows you well enough to have noticed your patterns and habits with almost everything in between. They were predictable for the most part, and that was partly because he takes pride in being observational, but you manage to unintentionally throw him a curveball every now and then that makes him smile.

You always come into class when there’s atleast fifteen people in it and Jungkook wonders if you know it in the back of your head or if you just sneak a peek at the room every now and then. He’s not keen on being early to classes, and on the three straight occasions his dad left something in the classroom from the day before and got him to retrieve it for him, you were already there.

You’re fixated and practically attached to your knitted cardigan, seemingly having no problem wearing the same outfit for days straight — something so both adorable and visibly heart-racing when it’s almost always a tank top underneath that’s on the lower scoop, and a rotation of pants and sweats that sometimes feel so misplaced with your cardigan that it matches.

Jungkook’s found out that you probably wear atleast three rings on a daily basis, and that only took him two days to figure out because you’d exit the classroom with slight marks and indentations on your cheeks or on your jaw. Whether it’s to being sleepy, being bored, or being focused is something he has yet to discern — but yeah, he looks at you with his eyes silently when the class is dismissed, wondering if he’d see the same Pandora tiara ring mark on your cheek, or this time from a signet ring you sported more often.

He’s eight weeks in doing whatever this is. Whatever having the definition of him trailing behind his dad, a back and forth between his classes and his office, then them eating out for lunch break.

Sometimes, Jungkook forgets that his dad’s the president of this very university.

He’s only really known him as dad and he’s grateful for that, and the only times he’d see his father as the educator he was with the fancy doctorate degree was whenever Jungkook’s been a little lacking in his studies as a child up until high school. His mom, a doctor, would be on duty for nights and at home for mornings so that’d be the window she’d teach him the alphabet and addition with the carrying, something that eight-year old him would tear up just at the mention of.

His dad would just sit beside him in a very calm manor, take out two notebooks for one of them each, and make reviewers. Jungkook writes down what he knows and what his dad tells him to, highlights the key terms, and for some totally odd reason, making his own reviewers saved him from failing altogether and become an honor student with little help from his parents and most especially his dad.

It humors him that people are so rigid and intimidated by his dad, and he knows that not everyone would believe that this is the same guy that taught him how to give someone a proper wet willy. Jungkook sees people left and right going out of their way to greet him and pay their courtesies, stifling in a giggle that his dad also fights the need to laugh.

He loves and looks up to his dad, feeling a lot more thankful that he has a healthy relationship with his parents as an only child. Jungkook feels he owes that much to his dad that he took education for his college course, despite his blatant lack of interest for it.

And here he is — a senior at another college his dad’s not the professor of, studying a degree that he’s not gonna practice, and shadowing his father for eight weeks while he goes and teach for the “experience” as his dad calls it.

This has got to be a little ethically questionable, but that’s okay. Jungkook takes some comfort knowing that his dad’s the boss and he could just sit in a chair, pretending to absorb his lessons. In fact, he doesn’t even know why his dad opts to teach still even if he’s well high up in that ladder, the only explanation being that his father just really really likes teaching and not just be moving between airconditioned offices and meeting rooms all the time. And if that was enough, his dad just had to teach two classes to which Jungkook needs to accompany him in both — Statistics and English Literature.

Jungkook has a memory of stone that’s probably of the same kind the Code of Hammurabi was inscribed in (because he just swears his memory started way earlier than the age of four), because he practically knows everyone in each of his dad’s classes.

Eight weeks in. He’s only known that long.

But Jungkook knows for a fact that you’re never late — that much he knows. He refuses to believe that you’re actually gonna be late to class.

His dad comes in early and normally, he sits by his chair just when he’s a minute away from starting class. For some odd push today, he felt the need to enter the room with his dad and be early for once; but for the one time that he did this, you weren’t around for it.

You’re late, and you’re never late, and you’re throwing him a curveball, but something tells him in his gut that this just wasn’t something you pull out of your cardigan sleeve to confuse him.

You’re confusing.

You’re never usually confusing.

He visibly straightens in his seat when you enter the room with a sense of complacency and without the need to rush, the class only in the quieting down stages before the lesson begins when you walked in.

Mr. Jeon’s flickered to the entrance briefly, his tinkering with the HDMI cord continuing nonetheless. “Kook,” he just barely manages to get out because he’s already standing up from his seat, nimble fingers grabbing a slip from his desk that makes his dad perplexed.

Jungkook walks all the way to you at the back of the class, holding out the late slip to you a little too eagerly as it seems, and you can’t help but feel confused and irritated at the same time with how you started your morning.

For starters, coffee was spilled on your cardigan from the night before, and soaking it overnight in a mix of detergent, softener, and the tiniest bit of bleach wasn’t enough to completely rub the stain off — which meant you had to get up extra early to have it dry-cleaned (the staff looked at you a bit weirdly) and head off to where you needed to be, in a rush.

“But I’m not late though.”

You murmur as you peer up at him, refusing to even take the slip in between Jungkook’s fingers. He turns impatient, even more-so at your retort that honestly sounded genuine, that he settles on dropping it down your desk.

“You are, Y/N.” He says as convictedly as he can, only having to glance sideways briefly to your nosy seatmate to keep him out of a conversation he clearly isn’t a part of, and you make a note in your head to apologize to Jimin who gets scared easily, especially by the president’s son.

As if to prove his point, Jungkook rolls the sleeve of his bomber jacket in the slightest, enough for you to see a glimpse of his flashy gold Rolex in an attempt to tell you the time, one you couldn’t decipher because it was analog and your eyesight’s not that quick-witted nor clear.

“It’s three minutes before the start of the class,” you make it a point to outstretch your forearm, one that isn’t covered by your cardigan as he now realizes, your silver and digital Casio telling him that it’s 9:57, indeed three minutes away from the start of his dad’s class.

He barely even blinks before he adjusts himself to stand between your stretched legs so he could hold your arm and adjust your goddamn watch to be set four minutes later, his movements done so quickly that you straighten your back to the seat.

Jimin pretends he’s looking away, but deep down you already know that he’s gonna ambush you with questions as soon as Jungkook leaves.

“See that? You’re late,” he hums contentedly, pushing the late slip towards you and stands by himself with his hands across his chest, all-knowing that he wouldn’t leave not until you comply with his stupid request for a late slip.

His dad sees the interaction unfold from a distance, still confused but somehow amused, and a curious smile appears on his face as he now has something else to bring up on the dinner table later.

After all, he only called out to his son to tell him that they should go pick up a few groceries over lunch break — not to give you a late slip.

Jungkook collects the piece of paper from you wordlessly, letting his hand linger for the briefest moment but you pay him no mind, too occupied to looking at your left and gesturing for Jimin to scoot closer.

Something’s wrong.

His instincts are not exactly the most accurate but after all, it does account for something. He’s not the best at reading people when they’re indifferent, and normally you’re never indifferent to him.

He decides to lay low at that, sitting back on his chair and only twirling the slip in between his fingers and not once setting it down on the desk, preventing himself to look at it.

It’s only when his dad calls him to do a summary and explain to the class about his lesson’s breakdown, and he turns stern when he crushes the paper within his palm for the sake of being indiscreet that he totally wasn’t fiddling with paper for an hour and a half.

Jungkook returns and that’s when his dad starts giving out final reminders for their next meeting, straightening it out as much as he could until he can see your messy handwriting more than he could see the creases.

Tutored Hwang Hyunjin; state quizbee next week.

And why, exactly?

As far as he knows, Hyunjin’s the faculty’s favorite because he was such an intelligent student. He might be the favorite of his dad but he’s not entirely sure because his dad says he doesn’t like playing favorites, but he seems to think so nonetheless. If the guy who’s in the line-up for summa cum laude is asking help for a mere quizbee, what exactly is it for?

You’re an honor student, sure. In the dean’s list and in the running for cum laude, but you’ve said it yourself that you’re no Hyunjin and in verbatim, anyone who takes education as seriously as he does needs a hug and an emotional support system. Do you see yourself doing all the extra credits when you already have the highest average on all of them?

Did you hug him?

Jungkook scoffs to where his mind is running, a little dejected as he ponders on it even more as he stands next to his dad’s desk, nodding curtly at the students who bid him goodbye.

He’s extra quick to stepping up when it’s you who passes him, hands on his pocket as he asks under his breath.

“We cool?”

He tries to search for a hint of distaste in your face and he’s almost disappointed to find none, a genuine small smile on as you reply and come out the door without so much of a look back at him.

“‘Course we are, Mr. Jeon.”

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

“What’s up with you?”

Jungkook utters the moment the door of your apartment swings open. It was straight to the point, really. No buttering up to you and no unnecessary bullshit before he drops the question that’s been plaguing his mind the whole day.

You had only been brushing your teeth when you hear a series of crisp and heavy knocks that led you to think that your neighbor Hoseok next-door has finally screwed up the pooch completely, and accidentally set his kitchen on fire with the cookie batter he’s been doing a series of trial and error with for a dozen times already.

Oh.

It’s only Jungkook, then.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned being out in the hallway that gave everyone an opportunity to see him. Frankly, everyone who’s set foot to the president’s office, which is everyone, could tell who he is simply by looking at the few hundred picture frames Mr. Jeon has on his desk.

He’s not concerned and he doesn’t have the gall to be concerned either, because as much as he knows that although underneath his dad’s section, the housing section of the college wasn’t under his close supervision. Besides that, he finds that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with this.

Jungkook only looks up to you for a few seconds, wide-eyed with your toothbrush in your mouth, and decides to let himself in.

This being yours and Jungkook’s interactions for the past eight weeks. There’s not a label to it, but it goes along the lines of the occasional fuck, and then the ranting about each other’s days, and binge-watching that either ends up as hook-up, or trying to pick up new hobbies the other’s just suggested, or whatever’s playing is actually playing and the two of you just watch, your head laid on his lap and his hand brushing your hair.

Yeah, that one. Whatever that’s called — that’s what you and Jungkook are.

It’s been painfully obvious to your tight knit of friends, namely only being Jimin and Hoseok, that those things practically yielded to the commitment of him being something that starts with boy and ends with a friend, no spaces in between and all in one word.

You blink away your internal monologue, remembering that you need to spit before replying to his question that he’s asked you point-blank two seconds ago.

“You saw me in class today.”

That one couldn’t be anymore obvious and he huffs at that, once again going on a grumpy fit of frustration while he lies on your bed upright, arms across his chest. “Off,” you swat his leg immediately, making him haphazardly throw away his shoes if he want to keep being frustrated with you.

That’s the exact bit though. Regardless if you forced him to take off his shoes while he’s on your bed, he’d be frustrated at you regardless. He doesn’t know why he’s frustrated with you in the first place and that just makes him stressed even more.

The realization hits him that Jungkook doesn’t really know why he’s so pressed about you, his tone considerably softening because now he feels a little smaller under your curious gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. I clearly know that. I, uh, I meant outside of class.”

Normally, he’d find your avoidance of things actually endearing because you seemed to worm your way out of any situation you just deem to be unrelated to you — but for the first time, he doesn’t know if you’re avoiding his question. If this was still your passive-aggressiveness or genuineness showing its head right now.

“You’re starting to sound like a professor, y’know,” you note with intrigue, relishing to how Jungkook lying on your bed and looking at you under such intensity seems normal to you at this point and at this moment. “A professor hanging out with his student outside of class, in her dorm, and on a weekday.”

The comment you add was supposed to be humorous but you find it rather odd now having said it out loud, the realization dawning on you that whatever this is, is just too ambiguous and vague that you’d never wanted something so specific in your lifetime.

“Just trying to appease dad. Do I look like I have the patience to teach a class, better yet show up?”

That’d be the actual bane of him.

Don’t get him wrong, professors must be so cool and patient with their workload and stuff, but holy fucking shit does he hate it for himself. He means no disrespect to his dad but he honestly can’t see himself doing what he does, even for a fraction of his life willingly.

You sort of envy him for the upbringing he has and the wholesome and healthy relationship he has with his family that you wouldn’t mind telling people all about. Not everyone expects Jungkook to be as family-oriented as he looks, and the little nugget of information he made you privy too puts a gentle smile of your face.

“You do have the patience to ask me if I’m okay though.”

It’s a question between reeling yourself in and putting yourself out there more, plopping to sit on the edge of your bed as you try to put lotion on your legs all the way down to your heel.

Jungkook finds it normal to see you putting lotion on and zit cream on your face, and he doesn’t question it for one second.

That doesn’t automatically mean that he’s gonna address it though.

“Well, baby, are y’okay?” he crawls the short distance from you, putting half of his body weight as he slings himself on your shoulders from behind, lips brushing against your ear as he pulls you tighter.

“Mhmmm.”

He finds it that as much as he pulls you tighter, you grow a bit more distant. You’re there with him but your mind isn’t, perhaps lost on the lotion that only adds into your scent that seems engraved in his mind nowadays.

Jungkook does as much as to tug a sleeve of your shirt to expose the slightest bit of your shoulder blades, pressing wet gentle kisses that leaves you, surprisingly, unfazed.

You make no move nor action, just continuing on rubbing your arms with your hands and him taking the momentary act of silence to look around your room, seeing your textbooks piled neatly on your desk with your lamp on.

“Long night?”

He asks and not a second later do you hum in confirmation, making him roll his eyes and his stomach churn, but it probably just has something to do with a heartburn that’s beginning to form because the ache’s spreading to his chest.

It’s got to be heartburn, right?

“Alright. Didn’t have to answer me too quick just so you can kick me out.”

He mutters underneath his breath a little hurt, taking your responses as his cue to leave. His flair for what you think is the dramatics makes you roll your eyes and slap his thigh, following him out on the way to the door.

Jungkook’s fazed because he doesn’t exactly know the essential purpose plus his expected outcome of this five-minute visit. He doesn’t have a clue, but dropping to your apartment unannounced and seeing you for just even five minutes, even if he doesn’t know why, doesn’t seem wrong.

What is wrong, is that you’d normally kiss him goodbye.

This time, you don’t.

... \ ( ♡ ) / ...

Jungkook’s gut tells him to come early to class, even telling his dad that he’d come down there by himself so he could scope out his class like the great son that he is, and he does exactly that.

Some of the early-birds are pleasantly surprised to see him there, early and alone without Dr. Jeon, sitting on his usual chair.

This setting’s odd for him and as much as he wants to leave, he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t really care if he’s intimidating the students because after all, that’s not the reason why he’s here. In fact, he’s aware that he seems to be quite the talk of the campus, the verdict being half and half if he was as fun, easygoing, yet stern like his father — or if he’s something else entirely. Either way, none of them could catch on to the fact besides you that he’s not here out of passion, but rather obligation.

There’s less than thirty students in the room but Jungkook could just feel it at the back of his spine that you’re gonna walk through the door soon enough. You’ve got to be, right? Jungkook stands by himself near the door, practically barricading the door with how he’s built.

This familiar guy he can’t put a name to is walking through the door carelessly, eyes completely fixed on his phone that his shoulder’s barreling into Jungkook’s.

“Oh hey dude, what’s up?”

The guy in question barely even looks up for a second, a meek smile on his face before turning to his phone again and just staying there by the door, a character paused to block it all for a fucking text as what it seems.

Jungkook barely needs a second to look at him eye to eye; tall, pale, long blonde hair, and smooth pronounced features.

Hwang Hyunjin.

He’s only seen him in passing but never on this scale, his first instinct being straightening his back. They’re roughly the same height, Jungkook shoving his observation to the back of his head that Hyunjin’s only a millimeter higher than him.

He’s probably the only one applying pressure to this scenario, thick brows furrowing as he almost grimaces looking at the younger guy in front of him.

“Are you in this class?”

What?

Hyunjin’s confused to say the least, not only because this random dude he bumped into is suddenly making conversation with him, but because someone’s actually questioning about his presence here.

He lowers his phone, putting a pause to his heated exchange of which installment of this series they’re watching this, all in the favor for staring at this guy who’s cowling at him.

“... Yes?”

His answer even sounds unsure, Jungkook’s questioning raise of his brows prompting him to explain.

Hyunjin doesn’t even know why he feels compelled to explain but he does it nonetheless. “They say I could sit in this class. Some topics would show up in the quizbee next week.”

That’s just grand.

Before Jungkook can simmer in his irritation even more, his dad slips through the door by holding his shoulders in place, looking between the two of them briefly before walking to his desk.

“Kook? Thought you’d open up the lesson without me.”

Blondie tilts his gaze, eyes narrowing as he tries to scan a Kook in his brain’s directory and why it sounds so fond coming from Dr. Jeon.

“Mmmm, sorry dad.”

Jungkook emphasizes a little more than needed, turning to him and sending him a half-hearted grin while unbeknownst to him, Hyunjin pales and is having a breakdown and a half.

Did he really just accidentally bump into the college president’s son? Is he gonna be expelled now?

Jungkook’s oblivious to the inner turmoil that’s unfolding in the guy in front of him, crossing his arms before looking at his dad once more.

“Is he allowed here?”

He questions sharply like a toddler who’s just seen an inconspicuous man by the swing, his cheeks rounding with his lips pursed.

His dad’s really confused because this is the most intrigue he’s seen Jungkook inhibit for the whole eight weeks.

Of course his dad knows; he’s more than aware that his son has literally no interest in being a professor, and honestly speaking, he’s not even mad at that. He’a outsmarted him on this one and just went along with the lengths of hi son trying to impress him, falling into this eight-week routine of them bonding together with little practice teaching, yet Jungkook still wonders where he got his wit from.

He looks back and forth between Jungkook and Hyunjin, perplexed because he’s pretty sure that the two of them don’t know each other and that doesn’t explain the tension lingering.

“Hyunjin? Yeah. President’s lister, right?”

Hyunjin grins and chuckles at that, bowing slightly as he just passes Jungkook that appalls the latter.

“You put me there, sir.”

Jungkook mocks him under his breath, not going unnoticed by his dad who just chuckles all the same. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he lies right out of his teeth, sitting on his chair and spreading his legs until his dad nudges him to be atleast decent because he wants the students to focus on his presentation and not his son’s crotch.

He feels cursed having such clear vision because even when the lights are dim, Jungkook still finds his gaze looking for you out of habit. Cursed for seeing Hyunjin sit on the other side of you and suddenly he wishes that this would be the time that Jimin interferes.

He’s unsure if you’re making him confused or he’s confusing himself, but the way his head feels like splitting just by thinking about you and what he could’ve done wrong tells him that he should be definite.

“Would you mind wrapping up the lesson, Mr. Jeon?” his dad asks outloud and for any other context, they’d share identical smiles on how they should be professional towards each other (as suggested by his dad) during class.

“Not at all, Dr. Jeon.”

God, he’s so oblivious to see how he has everyone gravitating towards him that it’s actually endearing. You sitting all the way up gives you a front-row seat to see how everyone sits up a little straighter and how heads follow his every move.

Jungkook has everyone wrapped around his finger and he doesn’t even know — you’re everyone; he can’t know.

He steps up to the plate and the natural dominance and hold he has on everyone broke through, a lesson about statistics never being this intense and a large majority of the people would really stay for another hour and a half if it’s Jungkook who’s teaching.

He’s so absorbed into summarizing as a way of destressing that he ended up giving perhaps one of the best makeshift lectures ever, his dad positively awed and ending up even more confused.

Jungkook’s coming down from his lecture high, nervously fiddling with his fingers as his dad gives the final reminders. What doesn’t help is also you coming out of the classroom with Hyunjin in tow, wearing your cardigan, and that’s what considerably sets him off.

Suddenly, he now decides that your cardigan is the ugliest and most disgusting piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life. It’s the furthest thing from adorable, and the nearest thing into being set on fire.

You still smell sweet and homey when you’re nearing him, and the realization that your cardigan’s tainted by the smell of you and soon enough, Hyunjin will — it hits Jungkook too hard that he mutters under his breath, his jaw lax from being clenched.

“If you have a problem with me, just tell me about it.”

He can’t find the will in himself to care whether or not Hyunjin’s gone on without you and is waiting for you by the corridor, or that his dad’s arranging his shelf and could be possibly listening.

“I don’t,” your face reflects the same thing as your answer, devoid of any uncertainty that you have a problem with him.

“You don’t?” he prods further even if he knows that asking the second time wouldn’t even help.

“I don’t. Do you?”

There’s no malice in your tone. It’s the same gentleness laced with mischief underneath, head tilting in question.

That’s when he narrows his eyes at you, always knowing how to play your cards right without him knowing.

“With you or with myself?”

You shrug carelessly, an automatic giggle tumbling out of your lips that it bothers you too because you shouldn’t be okay with pulling yourself away from Jungkook, and the fact that it could be because you made peace long enough that the two of you will never be more is something to blame.

“You tell me, Mr. Jeon.”

He’s never hated his family name more and the formality preceding it than now. In reality, he’s just a year older than most of you in this class and the last time he’s checked, no one calls their senior, despite being from another university, like that.

Everyone assumed that he should be called with respect because after all, they’re probably looking at the future of this institution anyways.

Stable breaths aren’t enough and Jungkook seems to despise the way your slightest change towards him affects him the most, and his pride over not reaching out to your first has long been gone since.

He figures that this is just your way of detaching from him because his eight weeks are almost up, and that he should be totally fine with it because after all it’s only been eight weeks.

He can’t see another eight weeks of you pulling out from him, and even worse, eight weeks without you.

“We’re not cool.”

Jungkook says as soon as you open your door, not waiting for you to gesture him to come in. In any other situation, he’d find you adorable having traded your contacts for glasses, and absolutely sexy if his blood’s rushing elsewhere besides his cheeks. There’s no introduction of asking about your day nor catching you off-guard with a kiss either.

It’s him going straight to your bed and lying upright, looking at you somberly that you feel sorry you’ve been establishing this change in the first place.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

His question is a complete 180 from his voice that’s been gravelly since morning, sincerity underneath the rough edges.

You shake your head no, a signal that there’s absolutely nothing wrong and you don’t have anything to tell him about.

“Are you sure?”

He looks at you with wide reassuring eyes just begging for anything, atleast something, the only time that he wishes there’s something wrong going on so he could chalk it up to that instead of facing this shift with you blindly and aimlessly.

You’re wordlessly climbing up on bed too, making him automatically scoot over to his side of your bed when he stays overnight, instant warmth welcoming you just by having your shoulders touch with him. It’s a head nod of yes, I’m sure that there’s nothing wrong with your eyes closed.

Being beside him is the equivalent of all the comfortable nights you’ve slept. Jungkook’s the ultimate compilation and the most expensive goodie box of warm hugs and warm tea that tasted familiar instead of incredibly earthy. He’s white noise and eight-hour loops of rainfall against your windows and humidifier-goodness of sleep that you take indulgence and warmth in.

Jungkook’s in another realm of thought when he almost snaps at you because your roles have been reversed and it’s him who’s doting over you.

“Are you usually this non-committal?”

You’re always warm with a cherry on top when you talk to Jungkook, and just only two days of you giving him timid replies has him asking you if you’re the opposite of the adjective that people most commonly attached to you.

“I think we both know best that I’m loyal.”

You are.

It’s a word that’s almost always attached to your name. You’ve never really sustained a large group of close friends, and it wasn’t needed, but Jungkook finds it funny that you’re oblivious to how people look at you.

He’s well-acquainted with what goes around, and the only things that go around about you was that you’ve touched them in one way or another. You’re the most loyal friend Jimin has because you’ve stuck with him even if he’s spilled his guts on your bathroom floor, missing the mark of your toilet bowl. You gave up your bed for him and tucked him in even if he was still at risk of throwing up because he just couldn’t stop, and made him breakfast the next morning. You’ve only known each other for three days.

Hoseok considers you his most loyal neighbor slash friend ever, because you let him have a go at your pantry even if you knew at the back of your head that he’d screw up something in his recipe one way or another. Even started buying extra ingredients whenever he needs them, and him purposefully forgetting that he has brown sugar at the back of his cabinet.

You are loyal, and that’s what he sometimes hates about you too because it makes you more vulnerable. A little too easy to trample on. A little too easy to have you cheering for someone from the bleachers when they’re still on the bench.

Jungkook wonders if you’re loyal to him too, and if you were (which he’s sure of, and there’s no denying it), would you still be even if he feels like the two of you are growing apart?

“Then why do I feel that-“

He sighs in exasperation, head turning to face you and he’s greeted with your finger outstretched, digging in to where his dimple would appear.

He could look at you properly this time because he’s not in a rush asking if you’re okay. Eyes glazed looking up at him underneath your glasses, scrunched nose with the cutest smile and all that he wants this to never stop.

“Hey.”

You whisper in a rush all of a sudden, a toothy grin fading steadily when your thumb comes to rest on his cheek, whole hand soon pressed to it whole that Jungkook finds himself leaning.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out of you fluidly; no baited breath and no hesitation at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, actually. Not once did you think that you’d ever tell Jungkook you love him in this way, or ever for that matter, but it’s something that materialized out of thin air.

It’s as quick as a passing thought and as stable as a core memory, reiterating what is only a truth instead of a confession.

There’s no sadness in your gaze and no distrust either, but the smile that stretches on your cheeks doesn’t look as giddy.

He’s a little cross-eyed with how close you are, but Jungkook audibly whimpers when you pull away suddenly and out of the bed altogether, picking up your laptop from your table.

You don’t know what you’re doing either, but you could only hope that it looks as natural as it seemed, wanting him to know that your sudden realization that you need to make a twenty-page essay in size 12 font has nothing to do with your profession of love.

“But I know I shouldn’t, and besides, it’s a conflict of interest. Anyway, let’s just end this here now and-...”

“Are you insane?”

Jungkook exclaims in punctuation marks and of deep urgency, looking at you as if you suggested the most ridiculous thing ever after what you’ve just said, which you exactly did.

“Just continue loving me!”

He says it as the most obvious thing ever, his chest feeling an odd sense of relief after having blown up with emotion. He’s a sponge at this point in whatever relationship the two of you have. He’ll take what you can give, but this was something Jungkook would run to hell and back for to not take from you.

“You didn’t even ask if I loved you back! And that’s my honest answer, not something that would appease you when you return the question.”

He looks a little softer around the edges at the moment — arms flailing around and hair bouncing as he keeps moving his head.

His cheeks are puffed out when he’s angry and his lips are red from trying to get his point across strongly, stammering with what more he could think of in his head.

“It’s not a conflict of interest either! I only shadowed my dad to please him, but we both know that I don’t want to become a professor like him. You just think that it is because you’re up on the seats and I’m down on the podium!” he’s heated and his cheeks are warm and there’s no way it has something to do with your airconditioning.

“It’s a stint. It was a literal eight-week stint for free, because he’s the president for god’s sake — that’s it! I go back to my university in like what, a week? And they don’t even need me passing requirements, because they already know, again, that I’m the son of a university president! Honestly, it’d be stupid of them to.”

Jungkook feels like he’s gonna pass out with how overwhelmed he is. Too overwhelmed to the point that he doesn’t see you smiling out of the corner of his eye, hand rubbing down the length of his nape to his back.

It’s only then that you realize that he’s rambling and his voice is wavering, concern dripping down from you instead of amused laughter.

“Y/N, please, it’s convenient — more than convenient. I graduate this year, and you next year. The last thing I’d do in my life is grade papers. You know what I want to be? I wanna be-...”

Jungkook’s cut off with a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth that’s grounded him, blinking twice to look at you.

He should really kiss you right now.

“You could’ve condensed that into a single simple sentence,” you snort when you pull away from Jungkook’s hold, sending him a look of faux disappointment to which he whines. “It’s called I love you too, Jungkook.”

He squints at your teasing but reasons just as quick, sneaking in his head underneath your shirt to escape from your teasing and importantly, press a gentle kiss to your chest, then your boobs, and settling to lie down on your stomach as he’s content.

“I was panicked!”

Jungkook’s certain that he loves you, laughing to himself when he heard heavy knocks against your bedroom wall that just conveniently happens to be adjacent to Hoseok’s.

“Fucking finally! I was about to flirt with either of you just so you could cut to the chase and admit it to each other!”

Your laugh is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, coming out from hiding underneath your shirt and just laying on top of your clothed tummy, hand looking for yours to hold on to.

You’ve been sleepy the entire time, he’s figured. You having switched to your glasses meant you’ve already had your night shower, and only had three hours maximum before succumbing to your bed. You’ve had a long day clearly, and it’s when you’re starting to succumb into sleep right exactly where you are that Jungkook suddenly remembers.

“You know what I want to be? I wanna be-…”

“With you.”

“Mhmm?” you all but mumble, feeling him adjust your head on the pillow while he lays on his, literal weight being lifted off from you.

Jungkook feels even more endeared if that’s any more possible, the tiniest boop to your nose and the softest kiss on your forehead.

“I wanna be with you.”

#fEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook drabble #jungkook drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fic rec #jungkook fic recs #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook fluff imagine

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 3 years

Text

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist /// Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

Note

Hey Exiled. I wanted to say that your fics are super amazing and as an aspiring writer, I want to be as good as you. Hope you are doing well.

Possible Trigger Warning(?)

This is for if/when your requests open up again, but imagine Xiao or Albedo with an s/o that’s being tortured and they’re forced to watch. Like they can’t do anything to save them and end up losing their s/o. (I mean for this to inflict pain as this is my favorite troupe. It can honestly work with anyone; I just chose these two boys because they are my favorites)

Today we woke up and we chose violence 🤝finally got around to working on this, I think it's about time I seriously manifest Hu Tao even tho I'm all fluffy lately ywy I love this community, you all give me the best brain juice ehehh Edit: Also also awww thank you for your kind words, sweetie, I'm sure you're already good in your own way!

Blood Money

Albedo and Xiao witness their S/O getting tortured... Blood, violence, the obvious stuff. And also death warning, read at your own risk. (masterlist)

With every punch sends nothing but painful regret into his gut.

His fragile and weak body was beaten into submission, and Albedo comes to spite himself over realizing just how useless he is without his Vision, how useless he would be with it either way. Maybe if he knew the things that would transpire, he would have taken great consideration into mastering his element.

The cloaked man pulls harshly at his ruined braid, forcing him to watch now in full attention.

He almost vomits at the sound of your bone grinding and snapping as they pull it back, your grazed throat able to let out a choked scream that sends shivers to his own body. For the first time in his whole life, tears threatened to spill as it forms at the brim of his eyes.

"Please..." the sword embedded in your side twists to deliver a seering pain, another scream forcing its way through your senseless whimpers, "Please... let them go..."

Your face was smacked flat against the floor, breathing heavy but barely there as a foot presses at the nape of your neck, placing a dangerous weight at your spine/throat as your oxygen supply starts to fade.

"That person right there is the reason your research has been stagnant," the one holding him down spoke in held fury as he chooses his words through grinded teeth, "Khaenri'ah needs its cure and you're here playing house. You ought to learn your lesson."

You're awfully silent and still. Albedo's sedated body struggles helplessly, breathe quickening as fear in its purest form bubbles within him. He gingerly calls out your name; no response, it only made the man put more pressure on your neck.

"No, please, stop. I was- I was on an expedition, in Dragonspine. I was sent by the Knights- I-I couldn't refuse..."

A swift, muffled crack makes him scream. Horrified and shocked. The tears are now that of a waterfall, sobs and cries for your name in hopes that you would respond. You didn't.

"Wrong answer."

Ever since the day Albedo comes walking into Mondstadt with your corpse cradled in his arms, not even the Knights had seen him walk out of his laboratory, dead eyes never meeting anyone's stare. The Alchemist is in grief and denial, that's what they theorized, for the reason that Albedo never once muttered anything else under his breath besides his research.

Timaeus and Sucrose, despite being apprentices and assistants, never stepped foot into his laboratory either. Banned, even. Klee too never had the chance to see him again, his laboratory was permanently locked. Perhaps he just needed time, something all the Knights thought.

"I'm almost done," and time is exactly what he wants. Even if you're nothing but a rotting corpse in his lab, he'll get to you soon enough. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I'll defy those laws for you, my love."

Xiao and the constant plague of his built up karma haunts him whether he has his eyes closed or not.

The problem with it is the fact that when it manifests, it's usually a vivid phenomenon that only he is witness to. It alarms him more than anyone of its recent manifestations, corrupting nearby Hilichurls and whole cavern of monsters, his debt is sipping and he's not sure what else it could hurt, because it can hurt anything at this point.

So when he lifts his head from his usual shackles of karmic binds, he was more than horrified to see you, his ray of hope entangled the same way. "What are you doing here-" his sudden question halts upon your pained grunt, the binds wrapped around your arms pulling in opposite directions.

The pain is slow and daunting, Xiao realized at the way your face scrunches up as it pulls more. Desperate to stop your hurting, he struggles against his own karmic binds. Yet the thousand years of burden do not relent so easily.

"Our lives are cut off because of your slaughter. What makes you think you deserve reconciliation with life after taking thousands of others?"

A bind finds its way around your throat and tightens, your grunts muffled into choking desperately for air, body writhing in an effort to pull away from all your shackles. Xiao doesn't like it, not one bit of how he struggles to break free, how powerless he feels at the current situation when he should be protecting you from harm.

"Xi..." He tugs at his left arm to angle his leg, hoping to latch it around the upper bind to pull it. What was of his composure now when his desperation and alarm is evident on his face? "X-Xiao ngh-"

Distracted from his own struggles, Xiao peels his stare away and onto your form, eye widening and moistening at the sight of red and blood forming by the junction of your arms and torso. A manifestation of the consumed festered souls summons behind your form with a wicked smile, long nails of jet black traces your flexed body while piercing at your skin as it passes.

Your struggles for air mixes in with pain raised tenfold, breathless screams for every puncture. You couldn't even look at him anymore. "Please," the Yaksha cries out in his most vulnerable, "Stop hurting them. Please... This is between you and me..."

"If you want us to stop,

then you'll have to stop too."

In the domain of his mind, only those that lingers, that should linger are the thousands of devoured, demonic souls that make up his debt. There is no room for anything else. Xiao hangs his head low and there he weeps in silence in a place where he is not a weapon, only a man reminiscent of his youngness and naivety.

Here he is no Xiao.

Here he is Alatus.

They smile.

"Xiao?" You wave your hand by his face, snapping your fingers (and failed miserably) enough times for him to finally zone out of his sudden trance in the middle of your comversation. "Is something wrong?" Your confused expression is different from his steeled, yet wide eyed one.

And without a word, he vanished from your sight. A look over his shoulder, of regret and hurt, was the last of your memory of him. In his eyes you are dead to him; in his mind your light has no place in it.

I have realized I do not want to scar you that much. Ironically. Asks spam after this so turn your notifs off after.

@primogenshin @xiaophilia @bunniesrorange @anormalguyreader @scarletroseneko @albaedhoe @xiaophilia @heisenwurst @childe-simp-exe @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @director-boo-tao @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop @tartuu

#genshin impact x Reader #Albedo x reader #Albedo #Xiao x reader #Xiao #genshin impact #angst #big oof #bloody mess #gender neutral #exile.goblet #exile.flower #sojourner specials

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becomingbts · 3 years

Text

Time heals (sometimes) - 1

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the burning spotlights and the applause and the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she believed to be broken.

Pairings: Y/N x OT7

GENRE: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series.

Ask or comment to be tagged!

1.5k

Warnings: The series is going to be heavy with a lot of personal experiences mixed into the fiction, so this is going to be kind of therapeutic for me. Please, consider not reading the series if you are not comfortable with: abandonment issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm (not descriptive and only part of MC’s past), suicide thoughts (in the past), toxic behavior, toxic and abusive relationship (in the past), depreciating self-talk and low self-esteem, a lot of curse, physical and mental pain, near death experience situation (in the past), and maybe smut scenes (happy ending though, but it will probably be quite the ride).

NOTE: So hello everyone, welcome to Time Heals (sometimes). Thank you so, so much for the warm welcoming, it has been my first time getting so many asks, I was honestly overjoyed. I still don’t really know what to call this part; is it a teaser? A note? A full chapter? I believe we’ll get some snapshot of memories like this one throughout the series because there is going to be a lot to unpack on both sides. I think it will be a chapter nevertheless because I have to establish some kind of order as to which parts should be read first, and I think this one is extremely important.

Thank you for reading,

-Dolly

Profiles #2 - here - part 2

Her scream pierced through the air while cries broke in the frenzied arena while a single blond-haired man froze, emptily staring at the stage. It felt like his senses heightened; his skin was shuddering, his eyes were frantically searching for one specific figure while his voice was lost in his throat. The screams resonating in the stadium would have been too loud for his voice to be heard anyway.

Jimin knew he shouldn’t be there.

Namjoon had told them more than once that none of them should try to go to one of (Y/N)’s events. It could be dangerous and they could be overwhelmed; anything could happen to them and they would still remain a nobody who fainted in the howling crowd. Would they want to take this risk? No.

So, Jimin would have had to admit that going to her very first concert in Seoul since the pandemic sounded like a very, very, very bad idea. And to be honest, it still didn’t seem to be a bright idea now that he was actually there.

But he still went because he needed to see her for himself; to see how she was. He had so many things he dreamed about asking her. Are you okay? Are you sleeping well? Did you eat before coming to the arena? Are you nervous? Do you... remember me?

Maybe he was torturing himself. He kept on watching her lives, following her on all social media, always made sure to leave a sweet comment, and never miss any of her new updates... Maybe he even had a folder of pictures of her on his phone but he’d never admit it to any of his mates. Taehyung would probably take his phone away from him and delete everything and Jimin couldn’t let that happen.

He felt like it was cheating. Don’t take him wrong though. When he thought that, he was not really thinking about the boys. They did collectively agree not to follow her activities as an artist but it was getting harder and harder with how popular she got anyway. Moon was everywhere. In commercials, on the radio, her songs were on the TV… Even if she was known for refusing most of the promotional contracts that were offered to her, her image was still constantly in the media despite her avoidance of it. Ironic, but the media were trying their best to find anything about her, be it positive or negative. One day she was seen on her bike, the next, she was in a coffee shop, and it kept on going on, overstepping on her privacy as if it was just a meaningless word.

The lockdown had admittedly played a major part in Jimin’s obsession. Being in their apartment meant quickly running out of activities, and his job as a dance teacher was not really filling his free time (a lot of his classes were also canceled). It was also during that time that (Y/N) truly blew up as an independent artist. Advertisement on YouTube started being around her channel and her music, the recommendations he kept on seeing were about also her… Jimin’s resolve honestly broke easily. It was hard not to be curious about his lost soulmate even though he didn’t feel like he had the right to be hurting.

Anyway, to come back to his main point, if Jimin felt like he was cheating; it was mostly for her. After all, (Y/N) had no means of letting the curiosity get the best of her, to know what they were doing; to simply see or contact them. He had, at first, not really thought about that. Watching her content seemed a very innocent thing to do in his opinion; billions of people were watching her content, why should he prevent himself from doing so? Yet, Jimin could still remember one of her live she did soon after that interview she had given on this damned radio show where she had revealed who her title track ‘TIME’ was about… She had gone live the next day-Jimin had jumped on his phone because of the notification-and one fan had asked her what would she do if she knew that her ‘ex-soulmates’ (and those words left a very sour taste in Jimin’s mind) were watching her. The question had silenced a previously restless Jimin, replacing his initial excitation with dread while a lump formed itself in his throat. He had not even noticed it; he was so focused on her live and her upcoming answer that Jimin had completely missed the sound of a glass breaking in the apartment. Jimin had been home alone, so even if had indeed heard it, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to check what had happened, thinking that the wind knocked it over or something. Jimin had been so absorbed by what he had been watching that he even got surprised a few hours later when Seokjin came home and yelled at him for breaking something when he had been clearly innocent, engrossed in (Y/N)’s live (not that he could tell his soulmates about that part, but yeah). (Y/N)’s live would always be more important than some random glass breaking again in their apartment. Every object was doomed with Namjoon living here anyway.

On her side of the screen though, (Y/N) had seemed taken aback as she had read the question and had gritted her teeth gently. She had seemed to be pondering about her answer even though a lot of people in her chat were telling her to forget about the question if it made her uncomfortable (a lot were even scolding the person who asked). Yet, sighing softly, she had looked up at the screen:

“I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from asking questions on this topic. It’s not taboo but I’d rather not remember everything that comes with it. However, to answer this-hopefully-last question about it, I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content. It would only be fair after all. I’ve been denied access to their lives six years ago, why would they get a free pass into mine now?” She had not smiled nor had she seemed hurt by her own comment, yet Jimin’s heart had shattered in pieces, unable to press the cancel button.

Her voice had slowly faded into background noise while her words had been stuck in his head.

I’d ask them to turn off my stream and to stop watching any of my content.

How could Jimin ever do that? He realized that he truly should. Namjoon would even agree with you, as ironic as it sounded for Jimin. Namjoon had been one of the most adamant ones about rejecting your bond, after all. Jimin was shaking with bitterness while ‘Moon’ continued her stream peacefully with music. Jimin could only try to gulp his anger down as he remembered her crumbling features on that fateful day.

“You’re not our soulmates. This name on our arms means nothing to us. You are nothing to us if not a hindrance. Leave us alone.”

If Jimin could go back in time, he’d prevent Taehyung from spatting those words at her. Yet, he couldn’t do anything. Playing the scene over and over in his mind wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change that she probably hated them. It wouldn’t change the song she made about them.

And worst of all, it wouldn’t change the fact that Jimin had let himself believe that their choice had been for the best, trying to console and reassure himself, even if he had already known that it was wrong. Tears were pooling up in his eyes even if none escaped as he finally caught a glimpse of her on the stage. Suddenly brought back to reality after his subconscious memory trip, Jimin finally connected back to the world, looking around while he was still frozen on his spot. People were still screaming around him and he wondered if he looked like an intruder. Because, after all, wasn’t that what he exactly was? She said it herself that she didn’t wish for them to watch her; so what was he doing here?

Jimin couldn’t help but stare; she looked ethereal, dressed like a queen in the middle of a sold-out arena. People were screaming her name as she yelled her infamous ‘hi people’. It was an opening sentence that Jimin heard way too many times in her vlogs and suddenly hearing it in real life seemed surreal.

Jimin could only watch in awe, entranced with her everything.

Screw the boys and what they would think once he’d be back from her concert.

He had been the one to find her six years ago anyway. He had been the one to bring her to their home six years ago, hoping for the boys to change their mind once they’d meet her.

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stxleslyds · 3 years

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Also, the writers' failure to understand, every crime Jason committed had a motive. Attack other criminals? Holy warrior destined to purify the world of evil. Attack Bruce? Joker's still alive. (Oh, Jason, it's much worse than that.) Attack Tim? A parody of what he once was. He wasn't just a "bad boy". He was dangerously insane.

Hi, Anon! Yup, there seems to be a lot of things that writers have gotten confused about Jason Todd/Red Hood and the biggest one is his motivations to kill certain criminals.

Let’s be honest, Judd Winick set a golden path for the upcoming Red Hood writers. But each and every writer that used Red Hood in their stories completely missed the point of Jason’s character. All of them. It’s so incredibly wild to me that every other writer read UtRH and came up with whichever version of Jason they came up with.

Let’s list the writers that completely missed the point.

Geoff Johns in Teen Titans vol.3 #29.

Geoff Johns was one of the first to completely mischaracterize Jason, why on earth would Jason go to the Titans Tower to beat up Tim? This is not me saying that Jason would never do that because Jason thinks of Tim as his brother or a friend or the person that he can trust the most from the Bat-Clan (can you believe Lobdell tried to sell us that one?), this is me saying that Jason wouldn’t have done that because he couldn’t have given less of a fuck about Tim’s existence.

When Jason found out that Bruce had another Robin he wasn’t bothered by his “replacement” he was mad at Bruce for having another child playing hero after he lost his life as a fifteen-year-old. Jason didn’t even think of Tim as his replacement as fandom likes to make us believe, Jason called Tim “pretender”. And that was that, but to go from minimal recognition to go out of his way to beat him up at Titans Tower is a massive mischaracterization.

Paul Dini in Countdown (to Final Crisis).

Paul Dini in Countdown did absolutely nothing with Jason, I am sorry but that’s all he did. Him writing Jason was like watching a dog trying to catch their own tail. He started with a pretty basic take on UtRH Jason, then he added a bit of Jason being an annoying man with Donna, then we had the jealousy arc because apparently, Jason had the hots for Donna but she didn’t want anything to do with him and he was all angsty when she paid attention to Kyle instead of him, and then, later on, he had that whole Red Robin bullshit (I am sorry about this, but I absolutely hated that, it was so dumb, I am so glad it didn’t last long because it was just too bad), and after all that mix of just not interesting stuff he went right back to the Jason that he had at the very start. It was a waste of time, but I guess that he had to be there because he was an anomaly and all that. I just think that was DC’s first try at making Jason Todd/Red Hood something more than just a street-level vigilante and they failed miserably.

Tony S. Daniel in Batman: Battle for the Cowl.

Even though the first two did make mistakes with Jason’s characterizations, this man was the first to just throw UtRH out of the window and make up his very own version of Jason Todd. And his version was horrendous, that Jason had no problem with attempting to kill children and innocent people, he also really wanted to be Batman because Gotham needed a Batman and he wanted to be the person to wear the Cowl and he was looking for a Robin for himself.

I know, the whole concept is the perfect opposite of what Jason Todd and Red Hood were in UtRH. Every aspect of BftC Jason is based on nothing.

Jason wanting to be Batman because Gotham needed Batman is just the beginning of what’s wrong in this book. Jason became the Red Hood (in part) because he believed that Batman and his ways weren’t what Gotham needed so he made a better version of Batman with Red Hood (according to him) because Red Hood did what Batman refused to do. Another thing that is just wrong is Jason wanting, Damian, Tim or Dick to be his Robin, there is just so much wrong with this, first of all, Jason wanted Batman to stop having Robin because child soldiers ran the risk of dying at a very young age and that’s exactly how he saw the whole thing because that was what had happened to him. Second, if Jason was mad at Bruce for getting another Robin why would he now want one of his own to team up with his Batman? Damian was a child, Tim was someone that apparently Jason hated (because Jason beating Tim was mentioned in this event), and then Jason actually asked Dick Grayson, Nightwing, to be his Robin? Listen, there is no way that was Jason, nothing about him makes sense, even taking into account that Jason had beaten Tim already in this event Jason actually tried to kill both Tim and Damian (it might have been just one of them but yeah, it still doesn’t make sense).

I just don’t think that Tony S. Daniel knew who Jason Todd was, maybe he got confused but the thing is, his “villainous” and deranged version of Jason Todd allowed a villainous and deranged version of Red Hood to happen with the next writer that I will be talking about.

Grant Morrison in Batman and Robin vol.1 #3-6.

This was the birth of the villainous, deranged and bloodthirsty Red Hood. There is absolutely no trace of UtRH Jason here, not even if we are looking at the opposite of things like we could do with Daniel’s Jason. Grant Morrison wanted Dick and Damian to have a villain to match their Batman and Robin and they decided to give us a red-haired-pill-headed-red hood. Everything from Morrison’s characterization of Jason is crazy, from the red hair (hello pre-crisis) to the awful Joker’s Red Hood looking suit, everything was just weird.

I still don’t believe that was Jason, to be honest, I would rather think that version of Jason was actually a rouge Skrull that came all the way from the Marvel Universe and lost his way in Gotham City. Maybe when he made the jump between universes, he got too much information and got confused and took the form of the wonkiest Jason Todd he could come up with.

This Jason was absolutely deranged, he knew exactly what he was doing and he didn’t care if innocents died. This Jason was the one that got locked up in Arkham. This is the Jason that Dick put in Arkham for Jason and everybody else’s safety.

Dick putting that Jason in Arkham wasn’t a bad thing or something that anyone can use to shit on Dick Grayson (not on this house). This Arkham was reformed and that Jason knew that if he stayed in that new Arkham he would stay away from trouble, but here is the thing, that Jason loved trouble, so he took all the tests to prove he wasn’t insane and asked to be transferred to Blackgate (where all the Red Hood’s enemies were). That Jason didn’t ask to be sent to Blackgate because the Joker was a cell away from his in Arkham, he did it so he could go on a killing spree in Blackgate (which he did when he got there).

Skrull Jason was just bloodthirsty and nothing like UtRH Jason, he had no motive other than just killing for fun or whatever. He didn’t want to protect Gotham and he couldn’t have cared less about the drug trade in Gotham. In Batman and Robin vol.1. Jason Todd was unrecognizable. And luckily, we never saw him again.

Scott Lobdell in Everything that he ever wrote about Red Hood.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. Lobdell was the king of overpowering Jason, he was the one that drove Red Hood farther and farther away from his street-level vigilante status. He continuously added more to him, he was a big deal because he was meant to take down Ra’s al Ghul, he was a big deal because he was the only human to train in the All-Castle and learned to summon the All-Blades.

This Red Hood’s morals and ideals were kind of gone, there just wasn’t any kind of interest in Jason to get rid of drugs or try to control its trade in Gotham, he just had no interest in street-level threats, everything was extraordinary in both New 52 and Rebirth. If he wasn’t in space he was in some mystical land. His friends and allies became even more and more powerful, his level of power was completely off compared to the others. His personality was ever-changing and quite honestly you could barely see the Jason that he once was.

This Jason also was very inconsistent in the way that he felt towards people (obviously because Lobdell is a shitty writer), he wanted to follow Batman’s rules and was shown as someone that still had fond memories of his life with Bruce before he died but was also willing to let those memories go, to move on? Maybe? I don’t know. But he changed his mind about Bruce and following his rules or not for a very long time. Jason was also a little bitch about Dick, and he was a little bitch because he (Lobdell) never gave the reader or anyone a concrete reason as to why he hated him so much and then in Rebirth he decided that Dick wasn’t that bad. Also, Jason went from “Willis Todd, abusive husband and father that deserved to die” to “Willis Todd abusive husband and father but he sent me letters when he was in prison and Penguin had him killed so now, I really want to avenge him”. Yeah, I don’t really know why that happened and like most of Lobdell’s arcs and stuff it was never really completed or well thought out.

Lobdell’s Jason characterization was a mess for ten years and that’s the prime reason why Jason is a character with no solid background, story or future.

James Tynion IV in Red Hood and the Outlaws.

Tynion’s Jason Todd was a hero, he was like a mini Tom King Batman. Everything he did was right and there was just no way that you could bamboozle him. This Jason was able to hold to Blades that drained his soul as well as hosting the Untitled in his body (that were able to drain his soul too) and on top of all that he completed his journey of the Chosen One by making those ancient martial arts moves that he learned before he was Robin even though Talia hadn’t been able to master it yet.

Scott Snyder, Tim Seeley in Batman Eternal and Batman and Robin Eternal.

A mess, this was pure New 52 levels of bullshit and they all just wanted to push the “Batfamily” and while Dick was gone, they were trying to make Jason fill the void that Dick left in Batman events. It didn’t work at all and all they did was mess around with Jason’s characterization more.

Geoff Johns in Three Jokers.

I have talked enough about Johns’ takes on Jason Todd and Red Hood, but let me tell you something real quick, if a writer thinks that the best they can do with a character is make them give up their morals/ideals for an unrequited love interest, then they can keep that idea for themselves. Geoff Johns wrote a book that was absolutely not needed and then proceeded to butcher every characterization that he could, Three Jokers was three issues long and he managed to add more trauma to Jason’s torture, push the narrative of Jason being at fault for his own murder and make Jason’s motivations to be the Red Hood weak enough to make him want to give up his work for a woman that he barely knows (and doesn’t like him at all).

Joshua Williamson in Future State: Red Hood and Robin #5.

Now, with Williamson I have issues only when he writes Jason, not because his stories are bad, don’t get me wrong, I would have completely enjoyed FS: Red Hood if it weren’t for the completely unnecessary Rose/Jason side plot he had going on. Jason was clearly working undercover for some people that he hated working with. He had to arrest or kill “masks” (vigilantes, just like he “used” to be) for the Magistrate.

His ideas were pretty solid, Jason did the job but he never killed the masks and actively didn’t trust the Magistrate but he was working there to tear them apart from within, and that’s amazing if Williamson had given us Jason Todd/Red Hood working undercover to dismantle an organization I would have been really happy.

But that’s not all he gave us, even if I just forget about his failed attempt at giving Jason a relationship, I can still see that Williamson is the kind of writer that wants (or is just following DC) to make the “Batfamily” happen no matter how dumb and out of place it looks in comics’ canon. So, I am a little bit weary, any writer that leans too much towards making Jason and Bruce work together and become a family makes me want to scream, but I do understand that is just me, many people want those two to be buddy-buddy, I, personally, would love to see Jason kick Bruce in the balls and tell him to lose his number.

Chip Zdarsky in Urban Legends: Cheer.

Ah, yes, I remember the days in which I thought that this could have been something good. Well, I was utterly wrong and I suffered all the way through this mini. I feel like now I can safely say that Zdarsky only wanted to write a Batman book but DC told him, “Hey you can write Batman but it has to be within a Red Hood story, but don’t worry, you don’t have to know much about the Hood guy, just come up with something and write Batman around that”.

I know that’s what happened because I read that story and all we got from it was horrible characterizations for pre-Robin Jason, Robin Jason, Jason Todd and Red Hood. I don’t know how he did it but yes, he managed to mess it all up.

From Jason not really wanting to be Robin and acting recklessly every step of the way, to secret desires of a perfect family with Bruce and so many other people that he couldn’t care about, Urban Legends: Cheer is the perfect book to avoid at all costs if you believe that the concept of “Batfamily” is the biggest lie, DC is trying to profit off this time around.

Zdarsky also nerfed Jason in ways that I thought DC only wanted to nerf Dick Grayson. But I was able to see that I was wrong. Zdarsky’s run also pushed some of the most disastrous narratives that DC really wants readers to believe like: Robin Jason wasn’t good at his job, he was too reckless and ultimately his death was his own fault. Yay! I want to cry!

I will give Zdarsky two points for at the very least showing that Red Hood wants to protect children and that he has a huge issue with how the drug trade is controlled and abused in Gotham City, it had been a while since we had seen that aspect of Jason’s Red Hood make an appearance.

It’s just too many writers completely missing the point of Red Hood’s character or simply writers agreeing to destroy Jason’s uniqueness in the DC Universe so DC (as the publisher) can further push the abomination that is the “Batfamily” in comics’ canon.

I do agree with you Anon when you say that Jason isn’t just a “bad boy” but I also don’t think that we can call UtRH Jason “dangerously insane”. Personally, I will only use that last description for BftC and Batman and Robin Jason, those two were dangerously insane indeed.

UtRH Jason was very meticulous in who he wanted dead and who got to live. He entered Gotham’s most dangerous world and he had to make a big entrance, he invited the eight most prosperous street dealers to a meeting, showed up with the decapitated heads of each of their right-hand men and an AK-47 and said:

“I am offering you a deal. I will be running the drug trade from now on. You will go about your business as usual. You will kick up forty percent to me. That is a much better deal than the Black Mask will give you. In return, you will have total protection from both the Black Mask and Batman. The catch? You stay away from kids and schoolyards. No dealing to children, got it? If you do, you’re dead.”

This was Red Hood! Red Hood wanted to control the drug trade in Gotham because he knew that Gotham is far too corrupt and filled with drug lords for him to just want to eradicate drugs from Gotham. If he had tried that he would have been a dumbass, but he wasn’t. He didn’t want to start a gang war and get innocent people killed because of it, he wanted to set the rules of his new Empire and he had to start with the street-level drug dealers, from there he grew until he became a major pain in Black Mask’s ass.

We went from Jason wanting to control the drug trade and take over Gotham’s underworld so people like Black mask couldn’t have people work for him (or being dependent on him) when they were still in high school or were in a vulnerable position, to Jason fighting a war for a mystic land because he was their “Chosen One”. DC really wanted to do something grand (yet boring) with Jason instead of sticking to a street-level vigilante that could have become a Drug Lord to control the drug trade of a city that is so filled with crime and corruption that it can’t be saved by anyone.

Batman doesn’t eradicate crime, he “controls” it, puts a blank it over it, lets it nap up until it wakes up once more to make more mess.

Red Hood had other plans, certain criminals didn’t get to nap, or, better said, they would get to nap forever.

So, no. I wouldn’t call that “dangerously insane”, I will call that “vigilante that believes himself judge, jury and executioner” of a city that is drowning in crime and corruption.

Anyway, I hope you have a really nice week Anon and thank you so much for sending me this ask!

#jason todd #red hood #under the red hood #red hood and the outlaws #dc comics #future state red hood #three jokers #bftc #asksss

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hum-my-name · 2 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Witch

A lopsided cake rests on Yennefer’s kitchen table, dripping with honey and cinnamon. A parchment rests beside it, folded to display Jaskier’s fancy scrawls of “Happy Birthday, Witch.” The W twists oddly in the top left corner, and Yennefer can see where the ink blotted when Jaskier decided upon the insult rather than one of his many endearments.

Yennefer gets spoiled on her birthday

4k words ~ Yenskier (Yennefer/Jaskier) ~ NSFW

For @witcher-bows-and-arrows (Prompt: Spoil)

Read on AO3 or continue below

Yennefer dips her finger into the honey pooling near the base of the cake. Her touch lingers there, hesitating, before bringing it up to her mouth.

It’s sweet— the gesture as well as the flavor.

She hadn’t realized the bard had been taking notes when she’d mentioned her birthday last month, the two of them parting from Geralt as he took Ciri back to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier had intended to leave for Oxenfurt, returning to his Sandpiper duties for as long as he can, but Yennefer’s memories of Rience had her tugging at his sleeve, imploring him to stay with her at one of her safe houses.

“You don’t want me to be alone on my birthday, do you?” She’d asked— and, well, that had been that. A soft manipulation for his poet’s heart; he’d sighed and asked for the specific date before giving in with a shake of his head. Honestly, she’d expected him to forget about it.

Now, though, a cake sits before her. A card rests beside it.

And Jaskier emerges from around the corner, sugar sticking to his cheeks. He’s still in his sleep clothes, an oversized white shirt Yennefer had found for him early in their travels together— soft and cream-colored, small flowers embroidered upon the collar and sleeves. He’d teased her for her new sentimental nature but, Yennefer swears, he wears this shirt more than any other.

“Maybe I just wanted you to shut up about missing your pretty clothes,” Yennefer had said. She left out the bit where she liked the idea of him wearing something she chose; she can barely admit as much to herself.

It’s easier to admit, though, when Jaskier stretches his arms above his head and smiles lazily, eyes watching her hopefully— such a tender gaze, she fears it could break her.

“Yennefer,” he says as though savoring her name on his lips, slow and drawn out. “If you say one thing about not appreciating that cake, I’m never doing anything nice for you ever again. I know it may not be what you’re used to— I know how you like your luxuries— but we’ve got limited supplies if you haven’t noticed, and I did my best to—”

“Shush,” Yennefer cuts him off, moving to run her hands through her hair, halting when she remembers the honey still on her fingertip.

Jaskier reaches for her, pushing loose strands behind her ear with a gentle touch. It shouldn’t have the effect it does, warming her cheeks and fluttering through her chest with a traitorous want. He bites his lip and watches her closely.

“Is it too much?” He asks. “Not enough?”

“It’s—” Yennefer hesitates, refusing to cower away from his gaze. “It’s more than I’ve ever had before. My birth wasn’t exactly one to celebrate when I was younger— and Aretuza doesn’t particularly care for its daughters.”

“Oh, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, softer than before. His expression shifts into something Yennefer refuses to read, refuses to feel moved by. But he grins and he turns, never looking away even as his hands fiddle with the cake at his side. “You deserve to be spoiled on a day like this.”

Sticky honey fingers and a piece of cake meet Yennefer’s lips. Yennefer opens her mouth, allowing Jaskier to place it upon her tongue as though feeding her something blessed. The cinnamon spices melt into sweet bursts of sugar and warmth. Yennefer can’t help her soft hum of satisfaction, and Jaskier’s eyes brighten at the sound. He feeds her another piece, larger this time, and honey sticks to the side of her mouth. Yennefer chews slowly, considering Jaskier before her.

He’s grown so handsome in their time apart. He’s always had his subtle charms, the way his hair swooped across his brow and how bright blue eyes would peek out from beneath them. But he’d been a boy, a flirt, and he’d always looked at her as though she was something he couldn’t figure out. Now, though he still seems like he doesn’t know how to break past her walls, he looks like he wants to learn how.

Gods, but he’s every kind of unfair. Willing and wanting and wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Yennefer doesn’t realize she’s reaching for him until she has his cheek against his palm.

“There’s honey on your lips,” Jaskier says. Despite the softness of his tone, something glints within his eyes, and Yennefer finds herself wondering how deep such mischief can go.

She’s the one to lean forward, to pull him close, his jaw cupped in the palm of her hand. She says nothing as she directs his kiss to the corner of her mouth, his tongue swiping over the drops of sugar left behind. It’s warm, sudden— and, then, he shifts and it’s a proper kiss, a meeting of their mouths with a moan caught in the back of Yennefer’s throat.

Curiosity melts into desire in Yennefer’s body, and she wraps her hands in Jaskier’s shirt to keep him in place. He descends upon her with a kiss that feels like a present, like he’s waiting for her to unwrap him and take him apart, like he’s offering every breath left in his lungs— every drop of blood, every heartbeat destiny’s granted him. When she pulls away, gasping, it’s like she’s still breathing him in.

Jaskier’s hands cradle the back of her head and, slowly, he slips his fingers down her spine, toying with the ties of her dress. Yennefer shudders against his touch but he doesn’t react, doesn’t tease as she might have expected.

“Let me take care of you today,” he says with such soft eyes. “Let me give you everything you wish— everything you deserve.”

Only a lifetime of practice keeps Yennefer from revealing how her heart beats so frantically within her chest at the sound of such simple words; but Jaskier— simple, human Jaskier— has eyes that shine when he asks for her permission, eyes that brighten and glimmer and expose every thought within his mind. Yennefer breathes in, breathes out; she wants to stay calm, wants to think things through, wants—

Fuck it. She knows what she wants.

“Yes, Jaskier,” she says, still so close that she can see Jaskier blink at the feeling of her breath across his face. “Yes.”

If Yennefer could immortalize Jaskier’s expression upon a painting, she would. Cheeks flushed and lips damp, eyes wide as his tongue peeks from the corner of his mouth to lick at the honey he’s stolen from Yennefer. The sight of him brings a new kind of smile to Yennefer’s face.

Their second kiss is nothing like the first. There’s nothing slow about it, nothing gentle or hesitant. It’s sudden want and desperation, Yennefer tangling her hands in Jaskier’s ridiculous hair and smirking when he whines at her touch. It’s hungry and it’s searching, mouths parted and lips swollen. Yennefer whines, pressing her body to his— already, she can feel his cock stirring to life against her, and her own body reacts with pleasant warmth between her legs. She tries to push him against the counter, to slot their legs together, but Jaskier stills her with a soft sound, his eyes full of other plans.

He fumbles with Yennefer’s dress, bunching the fabric in his hands as he lifts her skirts to bundle around her waist. Yennefer gasps as Jaskier reaches for her cunt, fingers slipping along her lips with a teasing kind of tenderness. Jaskier smirks at the sound, his thumb brushing along her body until settling upon her clit. Yennefer tugs at Jaskier’s hair, uncaring for her own roughness in her desperation for him to please her. She kisses him again, harder than before, and Jaskier kisses back with just as much force.

Nothing, Yennefer swears, has ever felt quite like this before. Nothing has felt like Jaskier’s mouth on her lips, his hands on her body, his fingers tempting pleasure out of her very being. Yennefer pushes towards him— closer, closer, but never close enough— whining as she feels herself teetering towards that overwhelming edge. She burns, needing and wanting more with every breath, but Jaskier keeps his pace steady, rubbing and stroking as she dampens against his fingertips. Slow and deliberate, more controlled than she’d know to expect from him. She’d call it cruel if it wasn’t so good.

Jaskier looks just as wrecked as she feels when she pulls back from their kiss, properly looking at him. Hair in disarray, cheeks still burning as he bites at kiss-slick lips. Against Yennefer’s side, his cock presses against her through his loose trousers, hard and begging to be touched. Like this, Yennefer wants to hear how it would sound for him to cry out her name— how it would sound for her to have him for as long as she wants him, to ruin him again and again.

Yennefer wonders if he can see that want in her eyes, if that’s why his breaths suddenly shake and his hands lose their steadiness until they still.

“Whatever you want,” he gasps.

It’s less of a promise and more of a plea, a request for her to give in to whatever insane little ideas and desires she has. Yennefer doesn’t bother responding with anything more than a smile.

“So,” Jaskier says, schooling his features into something less desperate than before, “if you’ll allow me…”

He trails off. For a moment, all they do is watch each other— learning, asking and granting permission, understanding and seeing more than anyone’s ever seen. And Jaskier’s eyes light with brilliant comprehension, overwhelming want. He smiles— and he lifts Yennefer with surprisingly strong arms beneath her arse, pulling her into the air so quickly it’s like she’s flying. Swept off her feet, floating in the air— she protests weakly, batting at Jaskier’s shoulders until he settles her onto the table beside her cake.

Yennefer huffs and shoves the cake away from their activities, but she’s not distracted by it for long. It’s her turn to smile as Jaskier sinks to his knees on the floor before her. For a moment, that’s all he does— rest between her legs with his head tilted up, eyes soft as they watch her every movement. But, then, his fingers fiddle with her skirts again and he moves forward, ducking his head as Yennefer takes the fabric from him, lifting it high so she can watch as he presses his mouth to her core.

It’s hot and wet all at once, his tongue and his breath drawing tiny whimpers from Yennefer’s throat. The table’s low enough for him to easily reach her, to hold onto her thighs as he eats her out. He works a hand closer, fingers slipping alongside his tongue, and he strokes inside her with steady motions. The first lick against her clit has Yennefer dizzy, spinning and huffing for breath; she spreads her legs further, urging him closer.

Her hand finds brown strands of hair, digging into his head as she presses into his mouth. Jaskier laughs against her— the bastard— but he quickens his pace, sucking and licking and sighing with each exhale. With a satisfied hum, he lifts his head just once to look up at her from beneath his lashes, face flushed with lust and a joyful sort of wanting.

Gods, Yennefer knew Jaskier was pretty, but she doubts he’d ever look lovelier than he does right now. Her arousal’s clear on his lips and chin, a shining layer sweeter than any honey. Yennefer wants to reach for him, to grip his chin and force him back down, to have him finish what he’s so teasingly started. But, beneath the desire for control, she wants to let him do as he said— to spoil her, to give her pleasure without being forced. She wants to know what it’s like to bed someone who looks at her like Jaskier’s looking at her right now— like he exists only to bring her satisfaction, to make her gasp and moan and nothing else.

Jaskier returns between her legs, and Yennefer’s core rushes with waves of heat. She moans, legs crossing behind Jaskier’s back to keep him in place, breath hitching as she nears her release. Knowing how close she must be, Jaskier doubles his efforts— a few more fingers fit inside, his mouth closing fully around her clit now as she jerks and cries out.

The heat of his mouth, the sensation of his fingers— all of it combines into a crashing blow of pleasure, her hips jerking as her orgasm overtakes her with a sudden strike. Jaskier doesn’t miss a single beat, continuing to work her through it with his hands and mouth, drawing it out for as long as he can.

When he pulls away, Yennefer already misses his touch.

Slowly, Jaskier rises to his feet. Taking Yennefer’s hand into his own, he helps steady her when she drops from the table. Her legs weak and shaking, he wraps an arm around her waist, kissing into her hair and bearing her weight.

“My room or yours?” He asks.

Yennefer laughs, breathless. “You know my bed is nicer.”

Before they take a step in that direction, Yennefer allows her dress to fall from her body completely, the dark fabric crumpling on the floor. Jaskier’s hands hover around her, ready to help her the moment she needs it. Yennefer, though, only grins gently at him and takes his hand again, the two of them wandering towards her room.

They don’t waste time once they enter her room. Upon reaching the bed, falling upon it with Yennefer half in Jaskier’s lap, Yennefer rests a hand on his shoulder and licks her lips in an unspoken invitation. They kiss, as hasty and hungry as before, chasing one another with grunts and gasps. When Yenenfer forces herself to pull away, a thin line of saliva still connects them.

“Here we are,” Yennefer says, adjusting away from Jaskier so she can sink back onto the mattress.

“Here we are, indeed.” Jaskier’s voice gentles, a quiet response as he straddles her waist.

Yennefer reaches for him, stroking his jaw and cupping his chin. Jaskier holds her wrist in place near his lips, watching her as he kisses each fingertip— from her fingertips to her palm, to her wrist and arm and—

And he kisses across her skin, leaning closer with each brush of his lips until he presses to her neck with shuddering breaths. His body nearly covers hers, coating her in his warmth and presence. He lifts his head as he kisses her jaw with light, ticklish pecks, and his eyes burn with desire and determination.

“Well, what are you planning for me, bard?” Yennefer asks. “Don’t make me read your mind to find out.”

There it is, that look Yennefer likes on him so much.

“Don’t pout,” she says, brushing her thumb over his lip.

The bed dips as Jaskier sits back to remove his clothing. With the barest hint of a smile, Yennefer allows him to make it a show for her, revealing smooth skin with each piece of fabric tossed carelessly aside. Yennefer runs her fingers over his stomach once he’s fully bare, and Jaskier jolts at her touch.

Jaskier approaches her again, his knees on either side of her hips with his hands stroking her chest.

“I want to take you apart until you know nothing but how nice you feel,” he promises. “I want to treat you in every way you deserve.”

And what a treat, indeed. When Yennefer imagined the bard in bed— back when they were petty rivals, competing for attention that hardly mattered in the end— she ungraciously offered the imagery of a man who wouldn’t wish to do the work, who’d maybe make some flirtatious compliments but, in the end, hope for his partner to finish them both. His current willingness to take that effort away, though, causes Yennefer to trust him with the control, to savor the feeling of someone caring for her simply because they wish to do so.

“If that’s what you want,” Yennefer says with slow words. “I’m happy to oblige.”

“Thank goodness,” Jaskier laughs, but it’s so terribly warm. Yennefer grins and lies back, waiting.

Jaskier reaches for his cock— red and hard, impatient and telling of just how desperate he must be. He doesn’t bother making a show of this, spreading precum across his length as he watches Yennefer, eyes dark and heavy. He twitches into his own hold, soft whines escaping his throat. When he deems himself ready, he shifts between Yennefer’s legs, lining himself slowly and steadily— he meets her eyes, and then he pushes in.

They moan as one, reaching for the warmth of each other’s bodies, and, after a brief moment, Jaskier rolls his hips against Yennefer as she wraps her legs around him. He increases his pace gradually but not slowly, rocking against her. Yennefer lets her eyes fall shut as Jaskier thrusts deeper inside her, sinking within her. Her head falls back against the pillow as she moans, and her hands find Jaskier’s shoulders, holding tight.

When she opens her eyes again, she groans, meeting Jaskier’s eyes as he raises a hand to his own chest, running through the thick plethora of hair there, pinching at his nipples with whining breaths. He moves closer to Yennefer, and her lips can just reach his neck. She kisses and she bites and she notes how he shudders against her— so sensitive, so reactive.

Minutes pass in a blissful haze, but Jaskier never once loses his rhythm— the benefit of bedding a bard, she supposes. His movements slow only when Yennefer rolls against him, allowing her to draw this out, allowing her to dictate their pace. Gods, but Yennefer wants to burrow inside his body, to curl around this pleasure they share, to purr and coo and hoard it all for her own. She bites his neck again, directing his face towards her with a hand wrapped in his hair.

“I’d have you here every day if you’d let me,” she whispers, fingers digging into his skin when he jerks at her soothing voice. “It’s a crime, bard, that you saved all this for something as foolish as a birthday.”

But the bard, for once, seems to fail in his search for words, muttering something incoherent beneath his breath. Yennefer laughs and his face grows red.

“Perhaps I just needed the right motivation,” he muses, and his teasing tone does nothing to lessen the adoring look in his eyes as he moves over Yennefer.

“Is that so?” Yennefer asks with a dangerous sharpness at the edge of each word. She offers him no chance to respond before snaking her arm behind him, dipping her fingers until she can brush against his hole. He jerks, unwillingly, and Yennefer gasps at the sudden deepness of the thrust. She teases again for the same reaction— again, and again.

“Interesting, bardling,” Yennefer says. “I’ll remember that for your birthday, don’t worry.”

From above her, Jaskier beams as though pleased with himself. He continues to thrust into Yennefer, his pace stuttering into something uncontrolled when she takes her fingers into her mouth and then shoves the wet digits into his hole. Yennefer could watch him for hours, could tease him for longer, but even she loses her composure when he reaches a hand between them, his thumb flicking over her clit. Beautiful, unescapable bliss captures the two of them, and Yennefer bites her lip before she does something stupid like say she cares about the bard.

It doesn’t take long for Yennefer to feel that all-consuming heat building within her body, pressing against each surface of her being as though, at any moment, it may explode. She grips Jaskier tighter and grinds back against him, meeting each of his frantic thrusts. They only grow more erratic as time goes on, pushing and pulling as one, as certain as the waves moving at the call of the moon. Seconds don’t simply drag on— they create worlds within each moment, lifetimes within each minute. Yennefer nears her release the way a maddened horse nears the edge of a cliff.

Yennefer climaxes with a ragged cry, her body flushing with heat and arching against the sheets, shoving her closer and closer to Jaskier. It’s a crushing feeling— an all-encompassing flood of pleasure and satisfaction, thrumming from her core to her chest to every piece of her body. Her nails leave long, pink lines down Jaskier’s skin as she claws at him, gasping and whining and swearing in a way unbecoming of any proper lady. Jaskier follows after, spilling with a drawn-out groan of his own. He collapses half on top of Yennefer, softening inside her.

For a moment, they just lay there, floating in their hazy bliss. Yennefer’s eyes flutter with content tiredness, and she’s only vaguely aware of Jaskier as he pulls out with a stuttering sigh. He moves to lay beside her, looking just as pleased as she feels. They lock eyes and Jaskier grants her a smile she’s rarely seen on him before; it’s something shy and half-hidden, endearingly awkward in its timidity.

“Happy birthday, Yennefer,” he whispers.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” Yennefer says, returning his small grin. Jaskier watches her for a moment longer— and she watches the way his eyes shift minutely, regarding her lips and her cheeks and her sweat-soaked skin. He hums softly to himself, shaking his head.

“I’ll prepare a bath for us,” Jaskier says. “That is, if you think you’re up for it.”

“You’ve never prepared a bath in your life,” Yennefer teases, turning to laugh into her pillow. “Wait a while longer and then I’ll help you magic it up.”

“Not really a gift if you’re doing the work,” Jaskier says, raising an eyebrow.

“You did enough work already,” Yennefer says. “And, if you really feel bad, you can make up for it by washing my hair.”

And Jaskier smiles without complaint.

They don’t move until a few minutes later, laughing quietly about the new knots in Yennefer’s hair and the swollen state of Jaskier’s mouth. Yennefer ushers Jaskier towards the bathroom, the tub already filled with clean water— with a wave of Yennefer’s hand, it ripples and steams. Not meant for more than Yennefer, it takes some time for the two of them to fit inside it, but they manage with their legs half-tangled together. Neither complains— like this, Yennefer’s back pressed to Jaskier’s chest, it’s easier for him to reach for her soaps and lather it into her hair.

He massages her scalp long after soothing the knots out of her hair, and Yennefer leans into him with her eyes closed.

“If I fall asleep in here,” Yennefer says, her head resting against his shoulder, “I’m counting on you carrying me out.”

“I was already planning on it,” Jaskier says— and it sounds like a tender promise rather than a tease.

With a tired chuckle, Yennefer allows Jaskier to lift her from the tub, an arm under her legs and the other wrapped around her back. With a kiss against his collarbone, Yennefer’s magic runs across their bodies, drying them as he carries her back to the bedroom. The bed’s a mess— unmade and smelling of their activities— but the blankets are soft when Jaskier sets her on a cleaner area; the pillows are fluffed when Jaskier settles one beneath her head.

And it’s warm, so warm, when Jaskier curls around her.

Though sleep tugs at her mind, Yennefer uses the last of her energy to shift closer to Jaskier, facing him. She drags the blanket over them, sighing in comfort. Jaskier brushes his fingers through her hair, following the locks until resting his hand on her back, drawing her closer still.

“I know it’s just the morning but, I hope you’ve had a pleasant birthday, all the same.” Even with her eyes closed, Yennefer can hear the smile in Jaskier’s voice.

Yennefer smiles, too, feeling safe in the way she can hide her face against Jaskier’s chest.

“It’s perhaps the best I’ve had yet,” she says— and, with a blooming spiral of affection within her heart— she realizes just how much she means it.

#yenskier #witcher bows and arrows #yennefer of vengerburg #the witcher #jaskier #yennefer #witcher fic

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan #rowan whitehorn #aelin #rowan x aelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fandom #throne of glass fanfiction

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hellcaster901 · 4 years

Text

Never Been Better

The Mandalorian x Reader

Second part to What Now?

Summary: It’s an unspoken tension between the two of you after what happened on the Razor Crest.

Word Count: 8,454

Warning(s): SMUT!! (Again, please be safe, wrap it before you tap it, this is (again) just a fanfiction), some language, the usual smut (cream pie, oral-male receiving). Did some edits, but again, if you find something just act like you didnt see it.

A/N: I can’t stop thinking about this man, Pedro Pascal has my heart and so does the Mandalorian. I want to give a shout out to my best friend @13dead-ends we’ve been on the phone for hours for the past couple nights just writing and figuring things out. She is a new author to tumblr so please go get her a follow and I promise you she’s coming out with wonderful (and smutty) works! I hope you guys enjoy the second part to ‘What Now?’!!!!

Masterlist

What Now? (Pt 1) Say Something (Pt 3)

“Are you sure it’s okay to be here?” You hum, watching as Mando lowered the ship onto the planet, the land becoming bigger as he grew closer to the land.

“Its outer rim. Aprliria doesn’t exactly hold a lot of criminals.”

With a slight jolt, Mando landed the ship, your eyes staring at the vast land of green grass and tall trees. For a while now, it’s been jumping from planet to planet looking for the Child’s kind, but with each planet, it left us more and more confused about if we were even on the right track. There was hardly anyone who knew what kind of creature the Child was, much less knew what planet would hold such a creature. Even if you knew where this planet was, you weren’t too sure Mando would even go. He’s grown fond of the child, the child himself looking at Mando as it’s father. The two of them had a bond that nothing could break, the Child was a part of Mando’s life, and leaving him was something the Mandalorian wasn’t sure he could do.

You watched silently as Mando’s hands glided along the dashboard, landing the ship perfectly. The Child watched with wide eyes from his crib as he waited for the next movement.

“Sweet thing.” You smiled, reaching for the greenling. He cooed at you as you picked him up, standing from the seat and resting the Child on your hip. “Are you ready to look around?” You whispered to him. He only let out a small squeal, answering your question. You only giggled, watching out of the corner of your eye as Mando turned in his chair, facing the two of you. “How long are we going to stay here?”

“As long as we need.” He answered, standing from his seat, the Child stared up at him, his hands reaching for him. Mando reached up, both of you watching as the Child wrapped his small hand around one of the Mandalorian’s fingers. You watched with a small smile, looking up at Mando, he tilted his helmet towards you, his eyes connecting with yours.

It always felt like the air was ripped from his lungs when he looked into your eyes. Or at least hoped that he was. The way your eyes shined in the light, how wide and full of life they were. Ever since that night of passion, things were definitely different. Both Mando and you knew that things couldn’t go back to how they were, neither of you wanted that, but it was hard to label what’s between you two when the two of you didn’t even know what to call your ‘relationship’. It was unspoken what was going on, but a few things have changed. Longer glances at one another, small touches that lit both of your bodies on fire, and nights that the two of you shared together.

It started to become a routine, the way Mando would lay awake in the middle of the night and hear you shuffle into his room, crawling into his bed and making yourself comfortable. At first it was he’d wake up to you sleeping by his side, curdled next to him with the blanket over your face, respecting Mando’s creed. When you’d wake up, he’d already be working on the ship, neither of you speaking about the previous night. What turned into once in a while, turned into every other night which turned to every night that you’d shuffle into his room, curling beside him and falling asleep. He didn’t mind, in all actuality, that’s what he waited for each night, to hear you shuffle into his room, your bare feet cautiously slapping against the metal of the ship looking for the cot and it dipping from your weight as you made yourself comfortable next to him. Mando was sure to keep his helmet on, not wanting to break his creed, but each time the room was pitch black, sheltering him from your gaze, and each morning he was gone before you were awake. You noticed the helmet, wondering if you should say anything about this unspoken routine, if it was too uncomfortable, but you figured if it was something Mando didn’t want, he would’ve said something by now. As the nights went on of you sleeping with him, you began to notice that he no longer wore his helmet to bed (as you stubbed your toes on it one night) trusting that you wouldn’t look.

You weren’t sure why you started going to sleep with him. One night you were up, your body refusing to go to sleep, your mind too active. Thoughts of the child and Mando filling your head, and no matter how hard you tried, sleeping wasn’t an option. The decision to go to Mando was a difficult one, you weren’t sure if he was gonna tell you to go back to your own cot, or blow up at you, or what. It was a chance you were honestly willing to take. That night that you tiptoed to his room, you noticed he kept his room dark, hiding his identity from anyone or anything that could come and see him. You slipped into his bed, pulling the blanket over your head and like a light switch, you were out. After that night, neither of you spoke about it, leaving it almost like a secret between the two of you. A secret from who? No idea, but it was a secret you were excited to have.

Mando couldn’t help himself when he reached for you, his gloved hand cupping your cheek. He watched as your eyes widened, your lips parted as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb, taking in your beauty. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling for you, it was a strong feeling he hasn’t felt for a long time, something that made him nervous. Nothing really made him nervous anymore, and the fact that you made him feel like that scared him.

“We should find some lounging.” Mando spoke up, pulling his hand from your face, the warmth leaving with him as your cheek grew cold. With a swift nod, you turned from him, grabbing the small messenger bag and nestling the Child inside, looping it over your shoulder.

The walk towards the small town was filled with silence, Mando keeping an eye and ear out for danger, if that was even possible on this planet, but also trying to rack through his own thoughts. You on the other hand, it was clear that something was on your mind, and that something was the man covered in beskar armour that made you feel boneless little less than a month ago. It was hard not to think about that time against the cold metal, the way he grabbed you, felt inside you, everything about that time was branded in your memory, and it was something that you couldn’t forget. What you couldn’t forget the most was that he took his helmet off, for you. Even if you had to keep your eyes shut, the action itself was enough to make your heart swell with the possibility that there was something more there than sexual feelings. Of course there was, he wouldn’t be letting you crawl into his bed every night or leave the small touches like he did just a few moments ago. It was the matter of talking about what this was, that scared you, and him even.

Things definitely changed, that was undeniable, it was the fact that you had to address it that made it difficult.

In a short period of time the three of you made it to the small town, it being more active than the past towns you’ve been to. People walking through the crowds of people to shops, other folks just sitting at the tables enjoying the sunlight. It was a town that was very much alive. The people wore bright colored clothes, all enjoying one another’s company. They must’ve been new to visitors as they stared the two of you down. But no one made a move to figure out where you came from, they kept their distance.

You reached down for the little flap on the bag, lifting it and seeing the Child staring back up at you. “Whatcha doing?” You giggled, reaching in and tickling his chest. He only cooed, wiggling in the bag. “Okay.” You laughed, stopping in your tracks and reaching in. “Keep within my eyesight.” You mumbled, setting him down onto the gravel. He cooed loudly, wobbling towards Mando. You followed close behind, watching as the Child caught up to Mando, his small hand wrapping grabbing onto the dark cape. An amused smile grew on your face as you watched Mando turn around, his neck bending to see the Child staring up at him, his small green hands grabbing onto his leg. “Rather have you hold him than me.” You chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. Mando glanced at you for a moment before reaching down and grabbing the Child, lifting him into his arms.

“Lets go.” He huffed. On the inside you knew that he loved this, the bond he had with this creature, he was just too tough to be open about it. With a smile, you followed, watching as the Child was staring at everyone and everything, taking in the life. Shortly you got to the small lounging, watching as Mando handed the Child back to you, heading up to talk to the owner for a room. You stood a few feet away, looking out at the crowd of people that were starting to gather further down the main street. You watched with a curious look, hearing Mando talk to the woman, trying to negotiate on a price for the room. Always trying to talk down the price. With a huff, Mando paid for the room, leaving the woman at the counter with a scowl on her face.

“Hey,” You softly spoke, glancing over at the woman. “What’s exactly going on here?” She sighed, leaning forward and staring down at the crowd of people.

“A festival, it's the beginning of the new season, it’s something to celebrate.” You nodded, listening to the woman. “It’s mostly a festival to be grateful for life.”

“That’s fun.” You smiled, looking back at the woman, she wasn’t smiling, just staring at you with a scowl. The smile fell from your face, wondering what Mando said to the woman to make her so mad. “Have a great one.” You hurried, looking forward, seeing Mando waiting. With a sheepish smile you caught up, following as he guided you towards the lounging.

He swung the door open, revealing two makeshift cots, and a window at the back of the room. It wasn’t the best option, but it was obviously better than what you had going on back on the ship. Mando didn’t say a word as he stepped inside, looking around. With a sigh, you set down the Child, watching as he waddled inside, making himself at home instantly as he explored the small room. You stepped in, closing the door behind you choosing the cot furthest away from the door, sitting down and watching the Child happily make his way around the room.

“Did you hear what that woman said about what's going on?” you started, questioning yourself as to why you even started talking. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Mando walk over to the window, glancing out. His helmet tilting slightly towards you, a sign that he was listening. “It’s apparently a festival for the new season that's coming for the people.” You explained, turning and facing the bounty hunter. “A festival to be grateful for life as well.” You smiled, watching as he looked at you. It was hard to see what he was thinking about, hard to know what he looked like as he stared at you. You tried to pick up on any gestures he would do, hoping it would help you figure out what he was going through but sometimes you were still as confused as you were before.

He said nothing, only crossed the room and sat on his cot, beginning to mess with his beskar. You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering if you should talk again or just leave it be and let him do what he needs to do.

“Would you like to walk around and see?” The modulated voice rung. You were honestly shocked that he said something, much less asking if you wanted to see what was going on. You thought if anything he’d want to stay low, leaving for dinner on the first day and seeing if this planet really is as safe as he thought it was.

“Can we?” You whispered, patiently waiting like a child as he thought things over. He turned his heads towards you, his eyes looking over your excited form, the smile on your face as you thought about the festival. At that moment, he realized he could never say no to you.

***

Mando stayed a distance behind, watching as you walked through the crowds of people, The Child in the bag that hung on your hip, the flap open for him to sit and watch without trying to keep up with the two of you. He kept a close eye on the two of you, nothing else catching his eye as the three of you walked, wanting to make sure nothing happened to the two of you. He watched as you watched the people celebrate, your eyes gleaming as you saw the people dancing to the music he was sure you’ve never heard of. The face of pure curiosity on your face was enough to make his heart tug.

Things were different, he didn’t talk about things because he wasn’t sure how to explain himself. That night, with you changed everything to him. He knew there was something there, there always was. The way he would catch you staring at him, or the way his heart would pick up as he got closer to the Razor’s Crest after he would catch a bounty. It was subtle things that he knew the both of you would pick up on, and that night changed it all. He cleared his throat, trying to steer his mind away from imagining that night once again. It was something he couldn’t stop thinking about. The way you gave yourself to him, the way you felt around him, he needs more.

He had to control himself.

The festival, the colors, the music and the people were all new to you. It was something unlike anything you’ve ever seen before in your life. It was a bit overwhelming. You looked down at the Child, watching as his wide eyes were staring at everything as well. You were sure the two of you looked alike, a pure look of excitement at the new things. You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes instantly landing on Mando as he followed close. You wondered if he was enjoying this just as much as you were. But you were sure he’s seen things like this all the time. You weren’t exactly too sure, he never spoke of past travels. He really never spoke to you about anything. Shaking your head, you tried to focus back on the festivities that were going on. Most of it was just dancing, the people enjoying the music and moving.

You gasped softly as you felt a small hand wrap around your wrist, tugging softly. Glancing down, you noticed a small child staring up at you, wide eyes, a smile on her face and sweat on her forehead. Her eyes kept flickering back and forth from you to the child quickly. I chuckled softly, crouching down, grabbing the Child in the bag and lifting him. “You can say ‘hi’.” I smiled, watching as her eyes got even wider. The Child cooed, lifting his hands to her, his little green fingers tickling her face. She giggled loudly, her hands going in excitement as she watched the Child. He cooed loudly, his arms going as he saw her own happiness. She calmed a bit, reaching into her pocket and pulling a beaded necklace. You smiled softly as you watched her look up at you, asking for silent permission. You nodded, watching as she lifted the beads up, the small string landing around his neck. Her smile grew, looking up at me with happy eyes. She reached back into her own pocket, pulling another string of beads out. She held it out to you, a wide smile on her face. With a smile, you ducked down, feeling the beads glide against your hair, and settling around your neck. You leaned back up, reaching and pulling your hair from under, the cool beads settling on the back of your neck. You looked over at Mando, smiling widely at him. Again, nothing.

As you walked around and looked at everything the day slowly turned to night, the people of the planet were still going strong and dancing almost like they haven’t been dancing for the whole day. As the day went on, you noticed people were setting up strings of lights or torches for the people to still see as it got darker, lighting up the festivities. Mando was getting closer and closer as it was getting darker, keeping close as we walked.

“He’s asleep.”

Your head whips around, looking up at Mando as he looks straight ahead. “What?” You watched as he looked at you, before glancing down at the bag. You looked down, a soft ‘awe’ leaving your lips. The Child was fast asleep, the necklace the little girl gave her held tightly in his hands. “I think we should get back.” You whispered, looking up at him. With a swift nod he turned, leading the way back. You followed, reaching a hand down to the Child, his arms stretching out, before holding onto your hand.

You kept close to Mando, watching the way even as the people were enjoying their time, they were still moving out of the way for the bounty hunter.

“I’m sorry I dragged you around all over this planet.” You spoke, glancing up at Mando. “I wanted to see what a festival was really like.” He nodded, still keeping his pace as the two of you walked back to the room. There was a tense silence between the two of you, an unspoken ‘thing’. And both of you knew what that was.

Once back to the room, Mando quickly turned his back to you, working quietly on his beskar once again. You sighed softly, closing the door and walking over to your own cot. You softly pulled the Child out from the bag, his limp body heavier than you realized. You looked around the room, wondering if there was anything you could make a little cot with, but the blankets and items were things that the Mando and you would be using. With a heavy sigh, you gently laid the Child onto your cot, his little head sinking into the pillow. You chuckled softly as you grabbed the blanket and pulled it up, making a wall out of the blanket for him to stay in. You curled up besides the Child, resting your head on your arm as you looked over the strange creatures’ features. In a few short moments, the tiredness of walking around the festival soon encased you, leaving your eyes heavy as you fell asleep next to the child.

As it grew darker, and as you soon were asleep next to the Child, Mando found this the perfect time to take off his beskar. He knew he could trust you as he removed his helmet, setting it down besides him on the cot, removing the weight of his armour until he was in his pants and shirt. He slowly leaned back, the weight of the day present as his back strained from being in constant movement, his back popping in places that made him groan as he laid there.

He heard the small snoring coming from you, turning his head and noticing the outline of your body in the dark, the way he wanted to feel the dips and curves of your body as you laid on your side. His mind was racing from remembering what you felt like under his hands that night, how soft you were, the way you gave yourself up to him. He only stares, thinking about you. The way you took care of the child, the way you took care of him. He wasn’t used to having someone there who really wanted to be there. It’s always been only him, and the fact that these two came into his life was… overwhelming, but not unwanted. He was content with watching over the two of you, knowing you both needed the sleep from the excitement today. Mando rarely needed the full 8 hours of sleep, needing only a couple hours to feel energized. But he wasn’t complaining, he was able to watch you and the Child.

He laid there, letting his mind race from what he was going to do about the Child, if finding it’s kind was the right choice. Of course it was, to keep him if they do find his people would be a selfish choice, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what he could do.

His breath hitched lightly as he saw your body move, groaning as you twisted your body around, your back now facing Mando. He froze, knowing the room was dark enough that you couldn’t see his face, but he was more worried about her waking up and noticing Mando watching her. He only watched as you groggily sat up, a hand coming out to rub at your eyes as you adjusted to waking up. You looked over at the child, fixing the blanket that was disheveled from his movement and then stood up. Mando watched as you moved, standing from the bed, arching your back as you stretched, moaning softly as your own back popped.

The soft moans had chills running down Mando’s back, hearing them once again was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again. He noticed the way you glanced over at him, looking at his legs rather than his upper half. He noticed the way you kept his creed, even when you thought he was asleep. He watched as you walked towards the window, moving the curtains out of the way, looking at the crowds of people still celebrating.

“How long have I been asleep?” You whispered to yourself, still standing there as you watched the people.

“Only a couple hours.” You froze in your spot, the unfiltered voice responding to your question. You instantly lifted a hand to your eyes, the curtain slipping from your hand, as you backed away from the light.

“I’m so sorry Mando, I didn’t realize you didn’t have your-”

“It’s fine.” He spoke, watching the way you still covered your eyes, your back to him. He felt his lips turn into a smile, watching the way you just stood there, trying to figure out what to do without seeing him. “It’s dark enough.” He spoke again, watching the way you still stood there, covering your eyes until you slowly let your hand drop. He watched as the light from outside bled through the thin curtain and onto your face, highlighting every detail on your face, and he knew that you were the most beautiful person he has ever seen in his whole life.

“I don’t want you to break your creed, Mando.” You spoke softly, eyes still shut.

“I won’t.” He spoke softly, wondering at that moment if breaking his creed for you was a bad thing. But you kept your eyes shut, not trusting that the room was dark enough. You heard the cot shift, hearing Mando’s footsteps coming closer and closer. You tensed, not bothering to take another breath as you heard him get closer and closer. “You won't break it.” He whispered, grabbing onto your wrist lightly. You let him guide you away from the window, the light that was once shining on your face soon fading until there was only darkness. You couldn't stop the chills that ran down your back as you felt Mando’s thumb softly rub against the inside of your wrist as he guided you. It was such a small act, but there was so much intimacy behind it. At least, for you.

“I don’t want to open my eyes.” You whispered to him, letting out a breath you were holding the whole time.

“You don’t want to see me?” You could hear the teasing tone and the smile on his face, something you were grateful to hear without the helmet blocking his voice.

“Of course I do.” You whispered again, trying not to wake the child up. “But I can’t lose your trust.” There was a bit of silence, your words lingering in the air as you waited for Mando to say something. You waited for his voice, only hearing the soft noises coming from the Child as he slept and the people that were still celebrating. “Look,” you stared, letting your mind run a mile a minute, the anxiety of everything between the two of you rushing out, “I’m sorry if I did anything that you didn’t like or if any of this wasn’t what you-”

You gasped loudly as you felt Mando wrap an arm around your waist, tugging you roughly against his chest. In a swift move, he turned the both of you around, your back landing softly on the cot, Mando holding himself up above you, your hands against his chest as the two of you laid like that for a moment, the world stopping around you as you tried to control what was going on.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He whispered to you, his hand pushing away some hair that fell over your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. To say you forgot how to breath was an understatement, you were sure that you had died and that this was simply heaven for you. His fingers slowly trailed down your jaw, tracing the curve as the roughness of his fingers left goosebumps down your arms. He saw the way his touch made you react, and it only made him want to see more of it, forgetting how addictive it was to see you in this state. His fingers moved lower, trailing down your neck, his fingers outlining the edge of the shirt you wore. “You never could.” He whispered lowly. It was low enough that you weren’t sure if it was meant for you or for himself, either way, it was enough to make a light blush appear on your face and chest.

You kept your eyes shut, basking in the feeling of his fingers as he softly touched your neck and face. You listen to his breathing as he took his time tracing your features, taking in the feeling of his fingers as the two of you laid there. “Mando.” You whispered, feeling his fingers still for a moment until they continued their journey. He slowly trailed them to your lips, his calloused fingers tracing over them. You could feel his eyes as he followed his own fingers. “Mando.” You whispered again. “Kiss me.” Within a second, there was no turning back.

He grabbed the back of your head, pulling you up to him as you felt his lips crash against yours, his facial hair scratching against your skin as your lips moved together. Your hands grabbed at his shirt, pulling him even closer (if that was possible), wanting to feel his entire weight on you as you tasted him. His other hand caressed your side, his fingers digging softly into your hip before he grabbed the back of your knee, lifting it up and over his hip as he settled himself between your thighs. You gasped against his lips as you felt his bulge rub against your clothed center, the noise you made only spurring Mando on even more. He pulled away, his lips swollen as he tried to catch his breath, watching the way your own chest was heaving, the soft, sweet noises leaving your lips as he stayed above you. You felt his hands grab at your waist, his hands slowly pushing the flimsy shirt you wore up, exposing the skin he’s already seen. He watched the way your chest rose and fell a bit quicker, the way you gradually sounded more and more out of breath from just his small touches. As he got to your breasts he stopped, the shirt bunched up, your stomach exposed to him, his hands resting on your rib cage. It felt like an eternity as you both waited for the next move. “Please, Mando.” You begged softly, wanting more and more each second. He couldn’t refuse. He yanked the shirt off of you, your hair spiraling around you as he pulled the shirt off. You grabbed his hands, impatient with how slow he was taking things and guided his hands to your boobs, his hands greedily grabbing, a low moan coming from Mando as he felt the soft skin.

He was rough as he pulled down the cups of your bra, his head ducking instantly as he latched onto a nipple, his tongue flicking against the hardened skin. You moaned softly, arching your back, Mando’s arm wrapping around you a bit tighter, pulling you even closer to his mouth. You clawed at his back, gathering at his shirt, pulling it to his shoulders. “Take it off.” You mewed, feeling Mando pull away from you. Mando tugged the shirt over his head, tossing it across the room. He notices the way you didn’t react, your hands laying still on his hips. You still had your eyes closed. He hovered above you, resting his weight on his forearms as he softly pressed his lips against yours.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered against your lips, peppering kisses along your cheeks and chin.

“Your creed.” You whispered back, feeling the way his facial hair scratched your skin. “I don’t want to-”

“Open your eyes.” He repeated, his tone a bit more stern this time. You took a deep breath, your eyes fluttering open. You were surprised with how dark it actually was in the room. You couldn’t see his facial features, but you could see the outline of his body above you. You reached for him, your hands caressing up his arms to his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex slightly, the healed skin from previous wounds brushing against your hand. He let you touch him, his own breathing quickening as you moved your hands down his chest. Unlike last time, you wanted to take a bit more time. You shoved against his shoulder, rolling the two of you over, straddling his hips as he let out a huff as he settled against the cot. He grabbed onto your hips as you settled yourself on top of him, his fingers digging softly into your skin.

The two of you didn’t say anything as you planted your hands on his chest, letting your hands roam around searching for scars. You felt his chest rise quickly as you started roaming, feeling the slight chest hair that was scattered along his skin. With it being so dark, you went with your touch, finding the scars and tracing a finger along them, wondering how he got each one. As you continue your travel, you touch one particular long scar, that starts near his hip bone, and ends at mid torso. You fixated on this scar, your fingers tracing over it over and over again. “How did you get this one?” You asked, feeling the new skin that grew. You felt Mando sigh, his hands moving down to your thighs, before moving back up to your hips.

“Bounty got a bit carried away when I located him.” He answered. You didn’t think you could ever get used to his voice without the helmet, the sound alone making you weak above him. You took a deep breath, leaning down peppering soft kisses along his chest, softly licking along the scars that you met along the way as you traveled down his chest. You heard the small gasps leaving his mouth as you got lower and lower, straddling his legs as you kissed along the longer scar, feeling his hands push back some of your hair that fell forward. You kissed along the band of his pants, feeling him twitch against the fabric as you edged closer to the edge, teasing him. You licked a strip from his hip bone to his stomach, Mando moaning as the air hit it, sending goosebumps up his body.

“Y/N.” He warned, feeling your lips turn up in a smile against his stomach, your fingers dancing along the waistband of his pants. You hooked your fingers along the band, tugging softly. Mando quickly got the hint, lifting his hips as you tugged the pants harshly down, his erection slapping against his stomach, a bead of precum slowly leaking from the tip. You fumbled for a moment as you pulled his clothing off, tossing them on the floor before you seated yourself between his legs. “You don’t-”

“Shh.” You whispered, smiling to yourself softly. You nervously pressed your hands against his thighs, feeling more scars as you moved them up, feeling the way he flexed against your touch. You noticed the way you felt the blanket on the cot shifted, his hands bunching at the blanket as you moved closer and closer to your target. You wrapped a hand around his length, Mando grunting as you squeezed your hand around him, the velvety skin feeling foreign but not unwelcome as you moved your hand up. Mando was obviously a bit larger than what you expected, even with sleeping with him the first time, it was still a surprise with how large he felt in your hand, the girth of him making you nervous. “You’re so big.” you whispered to yourself, a smile on your face when you heard Mando moan softly at your words. You leaned forward, giving his length an experimental lick.

Mando gasped loudly, his hips rising as you pulled away. You smiled, his reaction only wanting you to hear more from him. You made yourself comfortable between his legs, leaning forward again and sucking the tip between your lips. He grunted as he felt the warmth of your mouth, his hands clenching onto the blanket a bit tighter as he felt your tongue flick at the tip. You moaned softly, tasting the precum that coated your tongue, the salty taste making you clench around nothing. You were positive that you were soaked, squeezing your thighs together as you slowly took more and more of Mando’s cock in your mouth.

Mando was on the brink of exploding. All he wanted as to grab the back of your head and fuck your throat. As rough as it sounded, that’s all he wanted was to hear you gag around him, and to feel your throat tighten around him. But he stopped himself, grabbing at the blanket under him, focusing on the feeling of your mouth around him. He watched as you slowly started bobbing your head, feeling you take more into your mouth, the tip of his cock lightly hitting the back of your throat. He bucked softly at the sensation, making you gag around him. He growled loudly, the sound sending chills right down his back.

To your surprise, you liked it.

You pulled back with a loud gasp, twisting your hand around his cock, spreading your spit around him, the wet sound adding to the soft pants that filled the room. Mando’s length twitched in your hand, his hips bucking as you stroked him, your thumb brushing along his tip, watching the way he gasped. You brushed some hair back over your shoulder, leaning back down and sliding his cock back in your mouth. “Fuck.” Mando cursed, his hand flying to the back of your head, his hand grabbing at your hair as you gagged around him, moaning softly as he tugged on your hair. Your scalp stung as he tugged on the strands, his hand gathering your hair to a makeshift pony. “Feels so good.” he rasped, the sound shooting straight to your core. You wanted to hear these sounds coming from him for the rest of your life. Seeing him like this, on his back and so vulnerable to you, made you want to be on your knees for him whenever he wanted. You bobbed your head a little faster, wrapping your hand around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. “Maker.” He growled, his body tensing beneath you. “Stop. Stop.” He rasped, pushing gently at your shoulders, his cock slipping from your lips, a string of saliva trailing behind as you took a deep breath in, licking your swollen lips.

“Did I-” You barely got a sentence out before Mando pushed himself up, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you towards him, kissing you with a passion that made your whole body weak. Mando didn't say a word as he reached behind you, unhooking the flimsy material and tossing it across the room, grabbing your hips and tugging you on top of him, your breast pressed tightly against his chest. He pawed at your thighs, his short fingernails scratching against the tight material as he pulled you impossibly close to him. You gasped as you felt his length rub against your clothed center, trapping his throbbing length between your bodies. He held you against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands weaving into his thick hair, kissing him with a passion that only he was able to pull from you.

“I wanna feel you when I cum.” He whispered against your lips, dragging his lips against your cheek as he left open mouth kisses along your jaw, peppering them down to your neck. You moaned at his words, nodding softly. He tightened his hold on you, wanting you impossibly close. You gave your hips an experimental roll, gasping softly as you felt his length rub against you. Mando growled against your neck, his fingers digging roughly into your thighs. You were positive that you were going to end up with small bruises scattered along your hips and thighs and you were more than excited to be seeing them later on. Mandos' hands became frantic, grabbing at the thin material around your legs and hips, tugging on the waistband and pulling harshly. “Take them off.” He growled into your neck, his teeth digging into the skin. You pulled yourself off of him, pushing your hair back and tugging at the pants.

He could see the outline of your body as you moved quickly, shimming the material down your legs as you stepped out of them. Mando was impatient as he reached for you, a hand on your hip and the other on your thigh, sitting you right back onto his lap, his lips finding yours in the dark. “I’ve thought about you.” He whispered, his hands caressing your back, feeling every single inch of skin that was exposed to him. “Every night.”

You could’ve died hearing those words leave his mouth.

“I have to.” You confessed, fingers digging into his tensed shoulders as he peppered kisses along your chest and neck.

“I’ve wanted you every single night.” He continued, sucking harshly at the top of your breast, for sure leaving a bruising. You’d let him mark you how ever he wanted, as long as it was him. “You’re so soft.”

“Mando, please.” You begged, rolling your hips once again, feeling his cock drag between your folds. He grunted into your chest, feeling your wetness coat his cock. He trusted against you, the tip bumping your clit making you jolt in his arms. “I need you.”

“Say it again.” He growled, weaving his hand into your hair, grabbing a fist full and keeping you still. “Beg.” You realized that Mando was a very dominant person, someone who took what they wanted whenever they wanted, and that didn’t stop when it came to your body.

“Please.” You pleaded, your voice sounding forgien to your own ears. “I want you in me.” You didn’t care if you sounded pathetic, you were desperate to feel him again. “I need you. Please.”

“You have no idea what I would do for you, my cyar’ika.” He whispered into your ear, lifting you against him. You moaned as you felt him reach for his cock from around you, rubbing the tip between your folds, smearing his precum and your juices around. He lined his cock to your entrance, holding you above him. “Do you want me?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes.” You nodded frantically, “Always.” That was the correct answer for Mando as he pulled you down, his cock splitting you in half. You whined, dropping your head onto his shoulder, his cock stretching you wide open. It was a bit of a tight fit, both of you were panting by the time half of him was in you. You slowly worked yourself onto him, lifting your hips softly as you sunk down on him.

“Maker.” Mando huffed, “You’re so tight.” You whined into his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as you finally sat on his thighs. His cock filling you to the brim, pulsing deep within you. Barely moving and you were already out of breath, already squirming against him as he was fully seated in you. Mando wasn’t doing any better, his hands had a bruising grip on your thighs, his breath stilled as he let you adjust to this position. You took a deep breath, lifting your hips, his cock dragging against your walls. A rush of pleasure shook your body, chills spreading over your skin as you sat back down. Mando gasped against you, his hips bucking against you as he wanted more. But he wanted you to control the pace, take it the speed you need it at. And it was killing him not to flip you around and take you the way he wanted.

You started lifting yourself on your knees, moving on top of Mando, feeling his cock become wetter and wetter with your juices as you moved. “You feel so good.” You moaned, the sound of your wetness coating him filling the sound in the room. You gained the confidence you needed, moving a little bit faster, bouncing on his cock as he plunged deep within you.

“Fuck Y/N.” Mando growled, grabbing your hips and helping you ride him, lifting you a bit more and dragging you down a bit harder than what you could do on your own. The tip of his cock nudged your g-spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You pushed at his shoulders, shoving him back onto the cot, planting your hands on his chest and lifting yourself up. Mando was sure that this sweet girl who was shy all the time wasn’t the one who was currently riding him. You were in control, riding him and taking what you wanted. He loved it.

He reached for you, grabbing the back of your head, tugging you down harshly against him, your breast pressed tightly against his chest. You squealed as he tugged you down, a hand in your hair, keeping you to him. “You’re so fucking tight around me.” He moaned, your walls clenching around him in response. It was a mess between the two of you, bouncing on top of him, both of you chasing your climaxes, wanting to feel the other. “This pussy is mine.” He growled.

“Yes.” He didn’t leave any room for you to argue, not that you wanted to, you knew that you were his, even if it took this long to screw again, you knew that you were his no matter what.

“Say it.” He huffed, spreading his legs, your own thighs spreading a bit wider, a slight burn from your muscles as he planted his feet and started thrusting up into you. You sobbed against him as his cock brutally nudged your g-spot, your body limp against him as he took control, a hand in your hair and an arm around your waist, keeping you tight to him. “Say you’re mine, sweet thing.” You weren’t even sure if you could speak as he set this brutal pace.

“I’m yours.” You cried, hiding your face in his neck, muffling your cries as he fucked you. “I’m all yours.”

“You take me so well.” He marveled, his arm tightening around your waist before flipping the two of you over. Your breath hitched as he flipped you over, the scratching material of the blanket digging into your back as he settled himself between your legs, his hands traveling down your sides and to your thighs, hooking the back of your knees and lifting them. You moaned loudly as you felt the burning stretching at the back of your thighs as he lifted your knees towards your chest, spreading you for himself. “I could fuck you all day.” He whispered to you, grabbing himself and lining up to your entrance. Your jaw was slacked as you felt him rub your clit with his tip before slamming back in, the slight pain of this new position instantly making your thighs shake. You were his for the taking, and he was taking every last bit. “Ever since that night,” He huffed, thrusting into you slowly, feeling the way you clenched around him, almost making him lose his train of thought. “I’ve thought about having you in every way possible.” You whined, listening to his words, his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Don’t stop.” you begged, feeling him slow down. “Please Mando, make me cum.” The begging really did it for him. He hovered above you, hooking your thighs over his arms as he fucked you hard. You were a mess, breathless moans, his skin slapping against yours, the wetness of your pussy was all the two of you could hear. You soon felt the familiar tightness in the pit of your stomach, your thighs beginning to shake as your climax was growing and growing. “Mando.” you cried, your walls fluttering around him as your pussy was becoming over sensitive to his movement.

“Cum around me, sweet thing.” he moaned, his own climax approaching as he felt you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.” You grabbed onto his forearms, his trusts speeding up becoming a bit more animalistic. You moaned loudly, that tightness in your stomach snapping as you came, gushing around his cock, gasping into his shoulder, whimpering at the over stimulation. “Cum inside me.” You begged. He growled into your shoulder as he felt your walls pulsating around him, his movements becoming irregular when he heard your words. He came a few thrusts after you, filling you to the brim with his cum. You gasped at the sensation, feeling Mando bite down on your shoulder, keeping his throbbing cock buried in you, giving you a few more soft thrusts.

Your walls clenched around him, feeling his cock twitch and pulse within you, both of you wordless and out of breath from the orgasms. He slowly let go of your thighs, whimpering as they instantly began feeling sore. Your whole body was sore, you knew that tomorrow you were going to be walking funny, there was no way you weren’t.

You reached up, weaving a hand into his shaggy hair, scratching at his scalp as the two of you calmed down, relishing in one another as you tried to catch your breaths.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, caressing your thigh softly. It made you smirk, remembering him asking you the same question last time.

“I’ve never been better.” You whispered back, feeling a smile growing on his face. He pulled out of you, both of you moaning softly. You blushed as you felt his and your cum leaking from you, dripping onto the bed. He seattle himself next to you, lightly shoving his arm under your head. With a smirk you made yourself comfortable, rolling over and resting your head on his chest. “Is this okay?” You whispered, feeling him slowly place his hand on your back.

“Yes.” he answered, his thumb rubbing your back softly.

***

You groaned as you felt something touching your face, caressing at your cheek as you slept. You cracked an eye open, seeing the Child standing right in front of your face, holding one of his little hands to your cheek. Once he saw your eye open he cooed loudly, a smile on his little face. “What are you doing, sweet thing?” You whispered, clenching the scratchy blanket closer to your chest. You raised an arm, poking at his little chest. You lifted yourself up onto an elbow, glancing around the room. Mando was gone, your clothes still scattered everywhere, and the Child in the cot with you. “Where did he go?” You whispered to the child, wrapping the blanket around your body and standing. You were right, you were sore, legs wobbling as you stood, the evidence of last night covering the inside of your thighs. You blushed, as you collected your clothes that were scattered everywhere.

As you grabbed your shirt, the door opened, Mando walking in with two bowls of food. You jumped lightly, seeing him standing there, in his beskar and helmet, and you, in a blanket.

“Sorry.” You chuckled, lightly, “Just woke up.” You smiled, again not sure of what facial expressions he was making under his helmet.

“I brought food.” He commented, closing the door. You were unaware how small this room was, or if it was the fact that Mando just took up so much space. “For you and the child.” He added, stepping over to the child. He greedily accepted the food, holding the small bowl in between his hands, as he sat on the cot.

“Let me get dressed.” You smiled again, shrugging a shoulder and turning. You barely took a step when you felt a gloved hand grab your wrist. You turned, Mando standing right in front of you. A word wasn’t spoken as he cupped the back of your head, leaning down and resting his helmet against your forehead. You smiled, closing your eyes and feeling the coolness against your skin.

Tag List: @hayley-the-comet

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Twenty

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait yall this month really kicked my ass,, but also we reached part 20!!

tw infertility discussion

***

Gwyn: isn’t he beautiful <3

In the freezing February air outside the tea house, Nesta clicks on the picture attached to Gwyn’s text. It’s a distant shot of a man in his mid-thirties hunched over a library desk while working, unaware that there’s a camera on him. She’ll give it to Gwyn, though—he is a little handsome.

Emerie: the stalker levels are through the roof, gwyneth. seek help.

Gwyn: no i’m gonna marry him

Nesta doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, but she types out a brief response before her thumbs fall off from the cold: Will give my opinion on him later. Got to go.

Gwyn’s crush will have to wait, Nesta thinks as she finally puts her phone away and pushes her way inside the exquisite tea house. Immediately, blasting heat thaws her frozen fingers and toes, and farther inside she spots the table she reserved for three. Right now, only one person sits at it.

Nesta grits her teeth and approaches the round table, heels clicking softly on the parquet floors. Elain doesn’t look up from the menu she’s reading. “This place would be nicer to visit in the spring,” is her only acknowledgment of Nesta.

“I like the winter,” Nesta answers simply, taking her seat across from Elain. She likes how the ice creeps over the garden outside until everything looks frozen in time, and she likes how the colorful flowers and trees become dulled by white snow. Not that her sister would understand or care.

“Of course you do,” Elain mutters, setting down the menu with all the careful elegance of a debutante. “I’m only here for Feyre, anyway.”

It almost saddens Nesta that she doesn’t feel hurt or offense at the words. She thought she would care more about Elain’s opinion than she actually does. “Where is Feyre, then?” she says, looking pointedly at the empty seat between them. “I thought she was coming with you.”

“I’m right here,” a breathless voice says, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. Feyre appears, looking flushed from exertion and the cold. She sets her bag down and joins them at the table, scooting her seat all the way in. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nesta bites. “I was just about to order.”

“So was I.” Elain smiles breezily.

Feyre glances between the two of them, clear concern on her face, but she covers it up and says, “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

It was Feyre’s idea, of course. After Nesta told her off for never being interested in what she wanted to do, Feyre actually listened. She asked if Nesta wanted to hang out, and then let Nesta fill in the rest of the details on her own terms.

Which brings them to the tea house. Unfortunately for her sisters, however, Nesta doesn’t really know where to go from ordering tea and biscuits.

“How is school going?” Feyre asks her after their drinks arrive.

Nesta sips from her tea, already bored. “It’s been fifteen minutes and you have yet to say anything of substance, Feyre. It makes me miss being alone with Elain and her mood.”

Feyre looks taken aback, and Elain levels a glare at Nesta. An unsurprised, of course you have to ruin everything like this glare.

So Nesta clarifies, “That wasn’t an attack. I just hoped that after driving out here, I would get something better than shallow small talk.”

“And how do you know it was shallow?” Elain steps in harshly. “How do you know she isn’t actually interested in how you’re doing at school?”

Nesta slides blunt blue eyes to Feyre. “If that’s the case, then I commend you. Personally, I wouldn’t give a shit if I was in your position.”

To her surprise, Feyre snorts. She looks resigned when she says, “No, you’re right. I don’t care about what’s going on at school, not if you don’t. What would you rather we talk about then, Nesta?”

Without hesitation, Nesta says, “Ask me something you really care to hear the answer to.”

Elain shuts her mouth and sits back at that. Feyre twists her lips, thinking her next words over carefully. “How is your therapy going?” she finally asks in a cautious tone. “What do you talk about there?”

Remembering that she’s in a formal setting, Nesta stops herself from crossing her arms. She settles on wrapping her fingers delicately around her teacup instead. “We talk about whatever I feel like talking about,” she answers honestly. Although lately her conversations with Lana feel more restrained than usual.

“And what’s that?” Feyre urges.

Nesta shrugs, fitting apathy onto her face like an old mask. “Recently? Childbearing.” But it isn’t her favorite topic of discussion, not at all.

“You’re pregnant?” Elain jumps in, leading Nesta to throw her an unamused look.

“No, idiot,” she says. “My therapist just has the idea that if I end up being infertile it’ll screw me up, mentally and emotionally and whatever. She thinks I should deal with that baggage now instead of saving it for later.” She rolls her eyes thinking about it. How many times does she have to repeat that she doesn’t care about her body’s reproductive abilities until Lana gets it?

Feyre chuckles, confused. “Why would you be infertile?”

Nesta forgot—she didn’t want her sisters knowing anything that has to do with her health. She even made Cassian keep her doctor visits secret from Feyre. But that was months ago, and the sisters are… not exactly in a better place now, but looking for the way there. Nesta thinks she can tell them without any severe regrets. “I have endometriosis.”

When she’s met with silence, she adds, “You know, with the tissue growing on my ovaries and stuff. It might affect all the babies I don’t care to have in the future.”

Elain is the first to speak. “You always wanted to be a mother.” Her voice is soft, almost mourning. It irritates the hell out of Nesta.

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps back.

“You did,” Elain insists. Feyre still hasn’t said anything. “You took care of our cat, Mittens, until the day she died. You taught Feyre her alphabet. You raised me when Mama and Papa were too busy to do it. You never carried dolls around in strollers or anything, but you loved being a mother.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Feyre says, blinking. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the endometriosis part?”

Nesta sips from her tea, the bitter taste a welcome distraction from Elain’s words. “What about it?”

“How long have you known?” Feyre demands.

“It isn’t cancer. And I’m getting treated, obviously. I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Nesta sighs, setting her cup down. “October. Cassian made me go to the doctor because he was worried about my periods, we had a big fight about health insurance, and now I use my salary from your boyfriend to afford medication so I don’t feel like dying every month. Is that everything you wanted to hear?”

Feyre only stares at her, for once revealing no emotion. “I keep forgetting,” she says finally, “that we’re not at a place to share things like that with each other. I keep being surprised every time I realize how much of your life you keep from us.”

“I don’t,” Elain huffs under her breath while she tears a croissant in half.

Nesta is still watching Feyre. “You remember how bad my cycles were? I would cry loud enough at night to wake the house.”

Feyre flinches at the memory, and Elain goes still.

“But no one ever woke up,” Nesta says. They never talked about it before, and she has no desire to keep speaking about it now. If they start to tally all the hurts they’ve dealt to each other, Nesta fears they’ll be here for hours. Worse, she fears she will lose.

She reaches for a lavender macaron and delicately pulls it apart, studying the cream filling inside. “Did you know they make these using the lavender flowers from the garden outside?”

“I hate lavender,” Elain says.

Spying her chance to shift the subject off herself, Nesta goes for it. “Because Azriel smells like lavender?” She pushes one half of the dainty cookie past her lips, chewing. “It’s an interesting cologne choice, I agree.”

“Wait, what are we talking about now?” Feyre looks around, unaware that they’ve moved onto another topic.

Elain’s innocent brown eyes turn into daggers pointed at Nesta, betrayal written across her face. Nesta feels no pity for her—especially not if they’re going to sit around judging each other for keeping secrets.

Feyre’s eyes widen and she turns to Elain. “Is it about your,” she lowers her voice and whispers, “crush?”

Nesta raises a skeptical brow. She doubts whatever Az and Elain have stops at just a crush.

“No, it’s not,” Elain answers determinedly. “God, do you have to bring men into everything, Nesta?”

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Quit it,” Feyre snaps at the both of them. “Or I’ll grab my things and leave.”

Do it, Nesta almost dares. But she has a feeling that Feyre means it, that she won’t submit to being taunted, so Nesta reins the words back from the tip of her tongue. After all, this tea is expensive.

The sisters take a moment to settle, and Feyre is the one to restart the conversation. “Either way,” she tells Nesta, “it looks like counseling is going really well for you. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, it really gives your skin a certain glow,” Elain drawls.

Nesta doesn’t rise to meet her sarcasm. In all seriousness, Elain and Feyre could probably use a therapist themselves. It might make Nesta’s interactions with them less headache-inducing.

“You should visit one day,” she throws the suggestion out without thinking.

“What, like a therapy session?” Feyre says.

Realizing the implications of her terrible idea, Nesta forces herself not to backpedal. “Yes,” she makes herself grit out. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Elain and Feyre share a glance of hesitation and concern. It’s a glance that grates on Nesta’s nerves, but she keeps her mouth shut and waits for a response.

Feyre answers first: “We’ll do it.”

Elain looks more doubtful, but seems to realize that refusing to go would paint her in a negative light. We can’t have that, can we? Nesta thinks wryly. She reaches for some macarons and starts stuffing them into her purse. “Sounds good. Great.” It is not at all great. Having her sisters in the same room as her and Lana might just be terrible enough to ruin Nesta’s next month or two.

“I’ll text you the details whenever I feel like it,” she tells Feyre and Elain as she rises out of her seat. Likely not for as long as possible.

“Where are you going?” Elain demands.

“I’m leaving.” Nesta pointedly drapes her coat over her shoulders, picking up her purse. “I have plans for the rest of the day, sorry.” Plans to get home and rate Gwyn’s work crush on a scale of one to ten. Maybe she’ll rewatch a sitcom if she has time.

“But it’s only been an hour,” Feyre protests.

Did Feyre think they would be spending the whole day together? Nesta wants to shudder at the mere idea of it, but she somehow… feels bad for her sister. “Maybe another time,” she promises vaguely. To provide some sort of reassurance, she adds, “I had fun today. Thanks for pulling this together.” The words are hollow, fake, and she’s probably a hypocrite for not being able to return the same sincerity she demanded from Feyre. But honesty isn’t going to get Nesta very far today, so this false politeness is the best she can manage.

Elain looks somewhat relieved, and Feyre looks disappointed but unsurprised. “Alright.” The girls nod at her. “Get home safe.”

She turns and leaves as soon as she’s given the green light.

A stale scent greets Nesta when she enters her apartment, reminding her that she hasn’t been around in days. In her defense, the winter months are easier to bear in Cassian’s heated cabin than in a poorly insulated basement.

Flicking the lights on, Nesta books it to the thermostat, her teeth nearly chattering out of her body. After turning the heat as high as it can go, she climbs beneath the covers of her bed without bothering to take her coat off. She doesn’t take out her phone to text the groupchat like she promised she would. She doesn’t even get her laptop to turn Netflix on. Rather, her focus is caught on the framed picture of her and Cassian sitting atop the dresser.

Everything was okay as she stepped out of the tea house. It wasn’t until she was inside her car that it came upon her: the whirlwind of emotions that had stayed so carefully hidden while she chatted with her sisters. All throughout the drive home, her mind kept returning to that one topic. Children.

Elain said that Nesta used to genuinely enjoy playing substitute mother when they were children, and she was right. But that was all fun and games, like playing teacher. What Elain left out was what happened after their actual mother died and their father went into debt, leaving all three girls in need of a parent figure. Nesta wasn’t a mother then—or at least, not a good one.

Now, she stares at the picture full of smiley cheeks and windblown hair, remembering the night that she realized she wanted to hold Cassian’s hand in hers.

She can’t imagine Cassian not wanting kids. They’ve never discussed it, but it’s so obvious to anyone who’s ever met him: he has too much love to give away to not one day end up with a whole brood of children. The thought makes Nesta’s stomach churn.

***

“Thanks again, guys.” Cassian shakes hands with his team as they file out of the conference room, all of them dressed professionally while he lingers in his hoodie. As soon as the last worker is out the door, he pulls out his phone, ready to shoot Nesta a message. She met up with her sisters alone today for the first time in a year, and he can’t wait any longer to find out if their brunch ended in a fight or not.

He clicks on his phone to find two texts from his brother, sent not too long ago.

Rhys: You’re in the office today for the monthly check-in, right?

Rhys: Don’t leave after the meeting is over. I’ll be there in an hour to introduce you to the new guy heading the Milan project.

Cassian frowns, confused. Rhys and the new guy are coming all the way up here to meet him? He didn’t know he was that important to the project.

While he waits for his unexpected guests, Cassian texts Nesta twice, and only receives a single short response saying she got home safe. Resolving to call and have a real conversation with her later, he gets up to change into the spare buttondown and pressed slacks he keeps in a locker in his office. If Rhys wants him to play the part of company boss, then he might as well look the part.

He’s adjusting the cuffs of his dark-colored shirt when the door to his office opens without warning, and Rhysand strides in followed by a stiff-looking young man.

Cassian eyes the stranger up and down first, trying to get a read on him the way he’s seen Nesta and Rhys read others. He doesn’t come up with a single thing, as usual, but he hopes he achieved his goal of looking intimidating.

“Cass,” Rhys greets him with a subdued nod, in full CEO mode. “This is our new hire, Keith O’Connell. I snagged him from right under Vanserra & Co.’s noses.” His near-violet eyes gleam with pride. “He’s going to be working out of Milan for us starting this summer.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cassian smiles lazily, and this is something he doesn’t need to fake—confidence. He reaches out to shake Keith’s hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian Madani.”

“Good to meet you.” The other man shakes back, but his grip is too tight, like he’s trying to break Cassian’s hand. Try-hard, a voice that sounds like Nesta tells him. Uses arrogance to cover up his insecurity.

Cassian takes it all into account as he pulls his hand away, seeing Keith through clearer eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back with copious amounts of hair product, and a shrewd black gaze takes in every detail of the office. He stands like he’s attempting to seem taller than he actually is.

A typical white-collar worker looking for a way up the corporate ladder, Cassian concludes. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but there must be a reason Rhys is so excited about him.

“Keith is starting here at your branch next week,” Rhys is saying when Cassian refocuses.

He blinks, unsure if he heard correctly. “What, all the way out here?” Away from Velaris in this modest mountain town?

“We agreed it was best if you two work together as closely as possible while preparing for the summer launch. Since you can’t come to Velaris, that means Keith comes here.”

Cassian looks at Rhys in astonishment. He thought that once he rejected the Milan position, he’d cleaned his hands of the job for good. Clearly he was wrong. “Just how involved am I going to be on this project?”

Rhys grins back at him. “You’ll lead from home base, of course.”

Cassian glares. Rhys responds with a look that says they’ll talk about this later.

Keith seems to find the idea of working alongside another person as distasteful as Cassian finds it unexpected, but he says anyway, “I can’t wait to start working together. I have a lot of ideas for the Italian outpost that I think you’ll appreciate.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cassian hums. “When do you start again?”

“Next Monday.”

“Then we should talk then.” Cassian gestures out the door. Keith looks taken aback, likely having expected more out of this meeting. But Cassian can’t meet with this guy until he gets a hold of what the fuck is going on. After shepherding Keith out of the office and shutting the door after him, he turns to Rhys with a raised brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys warns. “Your role in this project is serious.”

“This project isn’t even part of my job description. What am I supposed to know about international business conductions?”

“You know enough to keep an eye on that O’Connell kid for me.” Rhys leans against Cassian’s desk as if it’s his own and crosses his feet. “He’s an asset to the company, but he also worked for our competitors up to a couple of months ago. I can’t trust him to manage this thing on his own, and I don’t have the time or resources right now to watch over him myself. That’s why the duty falls to you.”

“I manage security,” Cassian states, in case it wasn’t obvious. “What about Az?”

“Az has his own things to handle.” Rhys waves him off. “Just do what I tell you to, will you? Pay attention to O’Connell for the duration of the Italy venture and make sure he doesn’t steer our ship off course. You’ll get paid triple for the extra hours.”

“I don’t need triple,” Cassian grumbles, but Rhys is no longer listening. He’s typing on his phone and already heading for the door.

“Feyre and I are having dinner here before heading back home,” he calls over his shoulder. “See you later; I believe in you!” The door shuts after him, leaving Cassian alone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies to the empty room.

Cassian leaves not long after Rhysand does, having no excuse to linger. Outside, he’s greeted with a surprise leaning against the hood of his truck.

Nesta pushes off the hood as soon as he catches notice of her. “Long day?” she asks.

He laughs for the first time all afternoon, the sound surprised and genuine. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I heard your thoughts.” There’s a light in her pale eyes that only burns whenever she looks at him. It’s the same light that powers her ability to make jokes and let her guard down around him in a way she can’t with most others, and Cassian is especially grateful for it today.

Nesta reaches out and takes his hand into hers. He watches the way their palms fit together in endless fascination, his brown fingers a stark contrast against her white ones. He squeezes once and looks back up at her. “How did meeting your sisters go? You never told me.”

The light flickers so briefly Cassian wonders if it’s a trick of his eyes. But then Nesta is there again, at full brightness. She squeezes his hand back. “Take me home. I’ll tell you all about it.”

***

a/n: i love writing stuff related to cassian’s job i’ll just be throwing random words in there and calling it business jargon

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

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teddy06writes · 3 years

Text

Locked Away

Requested by this anon: “Heyo! Can I please request an Awesamdude x Fem!Reader in which the reader is an inmate at Sam’s prison? Not Stockholm syndrome or anything because the reader already had a crush on Sam before being put in there. Thanks!”

And also this one: “ please i will cry if i don’t get more awesamdude content. i’ve scrolled to the very end of his every hashtag.”

Awesamdude x fem!reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, yelling, manipulation (dream’s the reason your in prison), character death

premise: In game AU; or the past three months you’d been under Dream’s control, only half aware of what was going on, the last thing you can remember from before was talking to Sam almost telling him your feelings, but now, as you are suddenly yanked from his control you find yourself being thrown in prison, now under his watchful eye

{oh there is no fluff here fellas}

“blep” talking

‘belp’ talking but its the green bitches voice in your head

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You were drifting, drifting through your strange, foggy world, doing your best to forget about the way you could barley control your own body, just a puppet on strings, when yelling, not of the voice that you’d been hearing, but of someone else, cut through the smog.

-“It’s over!”-

-”none of this will ever be over”-

The voice, it was your own but it didn’t belong to you.

-”Dream has Surrendered (y/n), we can’t allow you to continue on his work”-

Growing bored you begin to drift away again, barley seeing, or feeling the people dragging you away.

Sometime later, you’d been drifting, and then were suddenly plummeting back down into your body, a strangled sound escaping your throat as you regained control of your own body.

“What the fuck?” A loud voice asked.

You jerked your head up, turning to see that it was Sapnap who had been restraining you as you shuffled along, weakly asking, “Wha-? Sapnap- what’re you? Wh- what?”

You looked around frantically at the smooth Blackstone walls, and down the hallway to where Bad and Sam are moving through unlocking a series of locks, “Where? Wha- Where I am I? Wh- wh- wh- what’s going on?”

“Yeah nice try,” Sapnap scoffed, “I’m not letting you go because of fake amnesia.”

“No- it- I-” Panic was rising in your chest as Sam and Bad finished with the locks and pulled open a door to what looked like a cell.

“You think we shackle her like we did with him?” Sapnap asked, all but dragging you forward.

Bad was clearly about to nod when Sam stopped him, obviously conflicted as he searched your eyes, “No. She won’t need them.”

“What is happening right now?” You asked desperately.

Ignoring you Sapnap nodded, pulling your forward and pushing you into the cell, the barred door closing behind you, “Well, you don’t need me anymore, I’m gonna go talk to Dream.”

“Be careful.” Bad advised and Sam began to relock the door.

You slowly, shakily, pulled yourself to your feet, look through the bars at Sam and Bad, “What is going on?”

Bad frowned, almost glaring at you, “(y/n) this is what happens to people who do bad things. Siding with Dream is just about the worst thing you could have done.”

“Side wit- side with Dream?” You blinked, rubbing at your temples as panicked tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, “I- I didn’t- I wouldn’t-”

Bad simply turned away as Sam finished the locks, taking in a shaky breath, “We trusted you, you know?”

“I- Sam- I didn’t- Sam I don’t know whats going on? Where am I? I didn’t- I didn’t side with Dream- I would never side with Dream.” You said desperately.

“This is The Prison (y/n), entirely unescapable, made for people li- like you,” His voice wavered, and quickly he turned, “There's no getting out.”

You cried yourself to sleep that night, small sobs echoing through the empty halls of the prison; in his office Sam felt each new sob in his chest; in his cell, with each new sob Dream’s smile only grew larger.

Sam sighed, blocking out Dream’s monologue as he slid the tray of food through the opened slot in the door.

Dream’s cell had no bars, just a full steel door, and a tiny window in the ceiling, yet the man seemed to enjoy it, far to much.

“You know how funny it was to see (y/n) getting dragged in here?” Dream laughter shrilly.

“You were in here, there was no way you could’ve seen anything.” Sam replied sharply.

“Oh but I hear everything,” Dream laughed again, “Stupid bitch didn’t even know what was going on, god I didn’t think it’d be that easy to get in her dumbass head.”

“Don’t call her that,” Sam hissed, slamming the slot shut and locking it, “I don’t want another word out of you until you’re giving me that fucking tray back.”

Ten minutes later the hallway your cell was in was deadly silent other than Sam’s footsteps, “Food time.”

He slid the tray into the slot of your door, and look picked your head up from leaning back on the wall to look at him, “You do realize something’s wrong here, right?”

“I mean, you siding with Dream was certainly wrong.” Sam muttered.

You sounded utterly broken and defeated as you moved to lay back on your cot, turning to face the wall, “I didn’t realize manipulation was a form of agreement.”

Sam sighed, “Are you gonna eat this or not? I’m not suppose to leave till you do.”

“Then I guess your going to have to sit here.”

The first 15 minutes passed in silence, Sam resigning to sit on the floor outside your cell as the minutes ticked on, eventually asking, “You were saying you didn’t remember anything, what exactly do you remember?”

“You.” The word was simple enough, “We were talking- you said you thought you could do something. Tried to walk me home but I said I’d be fine. Dream was waiting at my house.”

Sam hummed, a slight anxiety rising in his chest, “What did I think I could do?”

You sighed, studying the Blackstone wall, “You said ‘I think I might be able to love you’ but with whatever I did there's no way it’s true anymore.”

Sam stayed quiet, thinking back on that night nearly two months ago, plans for the building of that very prison were being finalized, he’d felt so on top of the world he’d admitted the feelings weighing him down, but then you had become strange, distant.

“Why did you do it?” He asked eventually.

“Do what?”

“Y- you were helping Dream, with fighting New L’manburg, exiling Tommy, blowing up L’manburg again, you- you helped him round up the things that hold power.”

You frozen, distant foggy memories flaring up in your mind, a thousand answers presenting themselves, ultimately deciding on, “Do you know what it feels like, to not be in control of your mind? To be stuck in the passengers seat as a madman takes to the road?”

He was silent as you continued, “To have your consciousness so nearly severed from your body that you can barley see or feel what’s going on? I didn’t have a chance to ask what was going on. He was just there, in my brain. Do you know what that’s like? I’d say you shouldn’t. Just take that food back and leave. Let me go back to dreaming of a future I missed out on.”

“How did it happen?”

Another quiet question, another quiet silence interrupted.

“It’s- foggy,” You admitted, more to the ceiling than to Sam, “But I think- I think it was like a switch got flipped. Could still be flipped. Then he’d be in control again.”

A week had passed since you’d been locked away, and still Sam would sit, until you finished your food, or, more like, until you finally pushed the food away, still refusing to eat despite the pangs of hunger.

“I- I didn’t kill anyone, did I?” You hazarded.

“I don’t know,” He admitted, “Even if you did, that wasn’t you. Nothing you did then was you.”

“Stop doing that.” You muttered, rolling over to face the wall yet again.

“Doing what?”

“Saying things you would’ve said before,” You said bitterly, “You can’t treat me like a monster one second and then like a lover the next. I may be a monster thanks to him but I do not think I deserve that.”

“You’re not-”

“A monster?” You cut him off, “That why I can still fucking hear him sometimes? Taunting me? Threatening to take over again?”

Sam froze, looking back through the bars to your turned back, “You can here him?”

Your hands began to shake, thinking about the barren whispers that filled your head at night, forcing yourself to sit up and turn back to him, plucking a small piece of bread from the tray, “Sometimes.”

“How? His cell is on the other side of this place.”

“He’s in my head, still hasn’t fully left, that is,” You sighed, biting off a small chunk of the bread before tossing it back on the tray and pushing it toward the door, “Thank you.”

Reluctantly Sam took the tray, standing up and starting to trudge back down the hallway, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Soon, he journeyed back down to the level where Dream was being held.

“I had a feel you’d be down here.” Sam could hear the smirk in Dream’s voice.

“What did you do to her?”

Dream chuckled, “I guess that depends on what you mean. Technically I didn’t do anything, that was all her.”

“What did you do?” He repeated.

“Nothing of consequence. For me at least. Honestly it was really quite easy to get in her head, didn’t even fight it,” Dream shifted, letting out a harsh laugh, “Part of me thinks it was like she was already that bad. Just as evil as me.”

Sam crossed his arms, “No one could be as evil as you, least of all her.”

“Of course you’d think so,” Dream laughed, “Course you’d think better of a monster.”

‘you think he’s ever going to forgive you?’

‘you’re a monster (y/n) nothing can change that.’

‘no matter how much you beg, no matter how much you try to get them to understand it was me, they will never let you out.’

His voice haunted you, keeping you up far into the night, words etching themselves into the walls of your mind.

‘he will never forget what you did.’

‘you ruined people, you worked for me, and that makes you evil.’

‘Your a monster. And even if you weren’t one before, I’ll make sure you become one.’

“You don’t control me.” You muttered up into the darkness.

‘oh (y/n) your so naïve.’

“Shut up.” You muttered more forcefully.

‘you think I can’t control you from here? you are a fucking fool.’

Almost immediately a feeling of panic surged through you as something changed, the switch in your head being flipped once again, the last thing you could truly hear as he took over was two harsh words.

‘you’re mine.’

It was early in the morning when Sam had woken up to a panicked sounding Bad over the coms, “I don’t know what's happening!! It- it sounds like- like someone's trying to kill her!”

Almost immediately Sam was up and sprinting down the corridor.

It took him all too long to reach your level, where Bad was frantically trying to undo the locks on your cell.

“Get out of the way!” He yelled, pulling out the master key card as he heard the obvious sounds of someone being choked.

It took yet a moment longer to get the cell door open, to find you one hand clamped around your own throat, the other desperately trying to pry it off.

“Bad go get healing pots!” Sam yelled, immediately rushing forward to help you as Bad went running.

It took him a moment to wrench your hand away from your neck, just long enough for you to cough twice, looking up at him in fear, “Sam, run.”

His brow furrowed, looking down at you confused as your face seemed to shift, and then suddenly you were throwing him across the room.

Sam watched, dazed as you bolted out of the cell and down the hall, master key card in hand.

By the time he had dragged himself to his feet, and his vision had cleared itself of the spots that had drifted through there were several alarms going off, and distantly, he could hear people running.

“Bad! Ant! Give me an update, what’s happening?!” He yelled into the coms, already starting to run to where he suspected the noise was coming from.

“The key cards! She got the key cards! They’re headed for south sector!” Ant yelled back.

“I want someone back in the control room,” Sam ordered, “Turn the mining fatigue up, set the lava traps and get guards on the outer perimeter. We can’t let Dream escape.”

Sam continued to run, listening to chatter over the coms as to where you were headed, quickly gaining.

“Freeze!” Sapnaps loud voice echoed through the corridor.

Dream turned from where you were toiling to break the wall to see Sapnap, Antfrost, BBH, and Sam all aprouching, crossbows drawn.

“Surrender now and we won’t take your last life.”

Dream merely laughed, looking his former friends in the eye, “You can’t stop me.”

“It’s four on two, seems like pretty good odds in our favor.” Sam hazarded, stepping forward and breaking the line.

Dream seemed to size him up, before glancing to you, “Kill them.”

The words were simple, and clear.

You stood, dropping your pickaxe and donning the armor nabbed while on the run.

“(Y/n), don’t-” Sam said cautiously, lowering his crossbow.

Dream sneered at him, drawing the other sword taken from the armory as Sapnap drew his own, “(y/n), fight him, I can take care of the rest.”

You nodded obediently holding up your sword before launching yourself towards Sam.

Sam raised his shield, blocking your first thrust, and then the second, quickly trying to back away from you as Dream attacked his comrades, “(y/n) don’t do this!”

His words fell upon deaf ears as you attacked again, this time grazing Sam’s arm with your blade.

He yelped in pain, instinctively starting to swing back, though not heavily enough to hurt you.

The sounds of fighting echoed through the corridor as you and Dream clashed with the guard, the men Dream attacked falling quickly until it was just you and Sam battling it out.

You slashed again at his arm, this time penetrating deep into the exposed skin on his inner arm, using his pause and yell of pain as time to kick him back knocking the sword out of his hand and pinning him to the ground with your boot.

Your sword poised at his throat you looked to Dream, waiting for confirmation.

When the man nodded Sam desperately reached out to you, “(y/n), (y/n) please- don’t- plea-”

You’d been drifting again, thinking of the night before Dream had taken you.

It had been late, you had stayed to long gazing at the sky, and Sam had found you sitting by the prime path.

He’d sat down next to you, and for a while you talked about everything and nothing all at once, until you’d laughed, and in some sort of sleep drunk state, leaned in and tried to kiss him.

Much to your surprise he had kissed back, giving you a murmured confession, the same one you heard now, yelled and frantic.

-”(y/n) please! I- I think- I love you- Don’t do this! Don’t-”-

The strings were cut, and you plummeted back into your own body in time to see a blade cutting into his neck.

“S-Sam?” Your eyes traveled up the blade, to the hand clasped around the grip- your hand.

“Sam!” You were desperate now, tossing the sword away with a clatter as fresh tears sprang in your eyes.

Distantly you could hear Dream laughing as you leaned over Sam’s body, “Sam no! Sam- Sam- I told you to run- I told you to run! Why? Why didn’t you? Sam! Please! No!”

The only thing you got in return was Dream’s wild laugh, and the blade being thrust into your back.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #awesamdude x reader #teddy06 writes

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

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